Faith, Trust, and Pixie Dust
by TearStainedAshes
Summary: John's and Sherlock's relationship is put to the test as they combat several difficult situations. Together, through intimacy, faith, trust, and a little bit of pixie dust, will they make it through the dark and into better days? Co-written with InvisibleBlade Rated M for slash and dark elements. Updates every Monday Friday.
1. Pixie Dust

This is taken from the RP I am currently doing with InvisibleBlade. She is not only co-author but has given me permission to publish our story. Go give her some love! She deserves it!

John: Me

Sherlock: InvisibleBlade

_Warnings for this chapter: drug use (implied), angst, unresolved sexual tension, and did I mention angst? Oh, and swears. Ye have been warned._

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Chapter 1 – Pixie Dust

_**Do you see all the pretty fairies? Or is that just me? –SH**_

_Sherlock, are you alright? –JW_

_**Yes. Just wondering if I'm the only one who can see the pretty fairies. They said they came round for tea. –SH**_

_Sherlock, what did you take? __–_JW

_**Take? Nothing. Might have sniffed a few chemicals. But I haven't taken anything. Still, these fairies are nice little folk. :) –SH**_

_You're using emoticons. I'm coming home. –JW_

_**Why? :( Me and the fairies are having plenty of fun on our own. –SH**_

_Because you're seeing things, and acting strange and I'm worried about you. –JW_

_**Oooh Watson's worried. My dear John, why's that? –SH**_

_Because you're saying things like that. You're acting… I don't know. Look, I'm almost home. –JW_

_**Awww :( Are you going to punish me? You always punish me when I get the chemicals out. The fairies won't be too happy. –SH**_

_**They might even try to attack you. –SH**_

_Sherlock, there is no such things as fairies, and I'm not going to punish you. What the hell did you sniff? –JW_

_**How could you say that! Every time you say that a fairy dies! How dare you! –SH**_

_Sherlock, I'm coming upstairs. Just try to be calm. –JW_

_**I'm as calm as a unicorn who has just had a fight with a leprocorn. –SH**_

_A leprocorn. Right. Okay. I'll be up in a second. –JW_

John sighed and made his way up the stairs to 221B. He wasn't sure what he was going to open the door to, but he knew it wouldn't be good. He got upstairs and walked in the flat.

'Sherlock?'

Sherlock was currently trying to fly. All his fairy friends could fly but it seemed he didn't have the capacity to do so. He'd tried every method possibly known to man. He'd even taken all his clothes off so that he would be lighter but he still hadn't been successful. John walked over to Sherlock and crossed his arms over his chest.

'Sherlock, what are you doing up there?' he asked, trying not to laugh at the state of his flatmate.

'Isn't it quite obvious?' Sherlock squeaked happily. 'I'm learning to fly.'

'Oh, yeah. That's what I thought. Why don't you come down and we can try again later?' John desperately wanted Sherlock to get down so he wouldn't hurt himself, but the sight was still quite amusing.

Sherlock frowned and huffed. 'No,' he said stubbornly. 'Make me.' John rolled his eyes. Sometimes Sherlock could act like such a child, and the effects of whatever this was wasn't helping.

'Come on. If you get down… I'll make you some hot cocoa. Does that sound good?' It was worth a shot.

Sherlock grinned. 'Will it be your own special blend?' he asked, huge puppy dog eyes pinned to John. John chuckled and nodded.

'Yeah, I'll make it special. Like I did when you had the flu. Now, go at least put some trousers on and sit on the couch. I'll be back in a minute.' John walked into the kitchen, which was a mess, and rummaged around the cabinets for the cocoa. Sherlock followed John, ignoring his plea to put trousers on. He tiptoed behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.

'Do you want to know a secret?' he giggled childishly. John continued making the cocoa, finding a mug to put it in.

'Yeah, sure. What is it?' he asked, only half listening.

Sherlock pressed himself up behind John. 'I wuvv you.' He then exploded into more giggles. 'Wuv you John.' John blushed and cleared his throat, trying to act normal, reminding himself that Sherlock wasn't exactly coherent at the moment.

'"Wuv" is not a proper word, Sherlock. And what did I say about trousers?' John wiggled himself out from Sherlock's grasp and handed him the mug of cocoa. 'Here, try not to spill it. Go sit on the couch,' he demanded, making his tone firmer than before.

'Trousers are no fun John. They make things so dull.' Sherlock took the hot chocolate and began sipping at it. He then frowned. 'Will you come and sit with me?'

'Yes, I will come and sit with you in a moment. Now go.' John pointed towards the living room and sighed. He went into Sherlock's room and grabbed his dressing gown and a pair of pants. He then walked back into the living room and handed them to Sherlock. 'Here. At least put something on.'

Sherlock pouted but did as John asked. 'Better?' he questioned John, looking an awful lot like a child who had just been scolded firmly.

'Yes, much,' John sighed, sitting down next to Sherlock. It wasn't that he was uncomfortable with nudity; he was a doctor after all. But with Sherlock in this state especially… it was different. 'Alright, now are you going to tell me what happened before the fairies arrived?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'I don't know. I can't remember. The fairies just appeared from nowhere. They said that I'd invited them round for a lovely roast dinner. I said I'd only cook for them if they'd teach me to fly.' He then proceeded to drink the rest of the cocoa in one gulp.

'JESU- SHERLOCK!' John cried, prying the mug from his flatmate's hands. 'That cocoa was fresh and probably scalding hot! You probably just burnt your tongue and throat!' John sighed and took a deep breath, reminding himself that the cocoa was the least of his worries. 'Now, Sherlock, fairies don't just come out of nowhere. You sniffed something to trigger their presence. And since when do you know how to cook?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Cooking is a simple art form John. And it would have been rude to say no to our little friends.'

John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was one of the worst accidental experiment-induced highs he had seen. He knew that it would be best to play along, at least until Sherlock sobered up or passed out, whichever came first. Taking another deep breath and sitting up straighter, John said, 'Okay. Okay, fine. The fairies want a roast, I'll make a roast. But you have to put clothes on first.'

'Alright,' Sherlock slurred, attempting to get up but ending up face planting the floor with a painful sounding thud. John sighed and ran a hand over his face. _Yep, definitely one of the worst_, he thought to himself. He stood up and went over to Sherlock, who had begun to giggle against the carpet.

'Come on, up. Use your arms Sherlock. Let's get you dressed and then I'll start on dinner.'

Sherlock flipped himself over, still in a fit of giggles. He grabbed at John in an attempt to get up. This unfortunately only ended in Sherlock pulling John down. He yelped as the older man's body crushed him. John landed on Sherlock with an 'oof.' Sherlock had gripped his arms too tight and had pulled him down, causing him to land face-to-face with his flatmate. When John looked up he was staring directly into Sherlock's eyes. His pupils were blown so wide from the chemically-induced high that his eyes were almost black. John swallowed and moved to sit up but Sherlock's tight grip on his arms prevented him from moving very far.

'Um, Sherlock? Do you think you could let go?'

'No,' Sherlock snarled. 'I don't want to let go of my blogger.' The detective's overly happy mood had switched to a far darker one. John's eyes widened. He knew Sherlock was possessive, but he had never seen him like this before. Trying to steady his quickening pulse he took a deep breath and licked his lips. He needed to calm Sherlock down. He placed his hands on Sherlock's shoulders and squeezed gently.

'You don't have to let go, Sherlock. I'm here.'

Sherlock's grip loosened. 'Mm sorry John.' His mood had taken yet another turn. He leant his head on John's shoulder and began to shake. Tears were quick to fill his eyes and quite soon the doctor's shoulder was soaking wet. John swallowed again. Although he was used to dealing with emotional people at the surgery, dealing with Sherlock's emotions was another story. They were rare, and only popped up when he was drunk, high, or he hadn't slept in almost two weeks. But he knew what to do in those rare situations.

John sat up and pulled Sherlock against him, wrapping his arms around his friend and stroking a hand through his curls. He laid his cheek against the top of Sherlock's head and just held him. He didn't speak, he just rocked gently and held his friend, letting him know that he was there, he would always be there, and he wasn't going anywhere.

Sherlock sniffled. 'Wuvv you John,' he whispered into John's ear for the third time in less than an hour. Sherlock's shaking stilled dramatically but the tears still flowed freely from his deep blue eyes.

'I know you do, Sherlock. I know.' John held him tighter, his hand stilling from stroking Sherlock's hair to grip the back of his head. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, resting his forehead against Sherlock's. When he opened his eyes he saw Sherlock's were staring right back, bright with the tears that were still falling. Before he could stop himself, John cupped Sherlock's face in his hands and wiped the tears away with his thumbs.

_Might as well say it since he won't remember it anyway, _he told himself. Taking another breath to steady himself, he looked directly into Sherlock's eyes as he whispered,

'I love you too, Sherlock.'

Sherlock grinned and laughed loudly. He brushed his nose against John's and wriggled beneath his flatmate like a hyperactive four year old. John couldn't help but smile. While Sherlock's mood swings, chemically induced or not, gave him what felt like whiplash sometimes, John really did love the man. He still wasn't sure he was_ in love_ with him, but he loved him all the same. He laughed when Sherlock pushed his nose against his again and returned the gesture, moving to kiss the tip of it. Sherlock moved his head to the right slightly. It was a tiny move and would have been completely insignificant if John hadn't moved as well.

His lips landed quite heavily on John's. He pulled back, unblinking, and in a slightly frightened fashion wriggled out from underneath John. It was as though despite being quite heavily drugged up the old, terrified of anything intimate and anything that involved feeling anything other than numb Sherlock was still eating away at his surface.

As soon as he felt Sherlock's lips on his John's pulse began to race, he felt his cheeks heat, and his breath actually got caught in his throat. For a brief second he wondered if Sherlock had moved on purpose. That thought was quickly defeated as Sherlock all but shoved him away and retreated away to a corner of the room.

'Sherlock,' he said softly, trying not to spook his friend. Sherlock looked very much like a deer caught in the headlights. John stood up slowly and held his hands out in front of him, the universal gesture of 'I'm not going to hurt you.'

'Sherlock, it's ok. I didn't mean to do that. It was an accident.'

Sherlock began to pull at his hair, furiously twisting his hands around his locks. It was causing him pain but he just couldn't work out how to communicate with John. John made no move to approach Sherlock. He could see the inner turmoil going on inside his head.

_It must be pretty bad if he's trying to rip out his hair. He only does that if he's especially distressed,_ John thought to himself.

'It's alright Sherlock,' he said in as calm a voice as he could muster. 'It's alright. I know this wasn't supposed to happen, I know you're struggling with the unexpected feelings. Just please, try to relax. Let go of your hair and say something, anything. I don't have to understand what you mean. Just start talking.'

'Where have all the fairies gone?' Sherlock questioned John, narrowing his eyes and moving his hands from his hair. 'Did you scare them away?'

'The fairies?' John asked. Then he remembered. 'Oh, right. The fairies. No, I didn't scare them. They... They had somewhere else to go, so they left.'

Sherlock's bottom lip trembled. 'Why did they leave so soon? Didn't they like me ?'

_Oh shit, wrong path_, John mentally cursed himself. 'No, Sherlock. It was nothing you did. The fairies loved you. They just had... a party to go to... in fairy land.'

'Fairy land? John that is a lie. It is common knowledge that the unicorns of the east destroyed fairy land a long time ago.' Sherlock felt outraged.

John slapped one of his hands onto his face, running it down his face. This was not one of those hallucinations he would be able to lie his way out of. And quite frankly, the whole ordeal was beginning to grate his nerves.

'Fine, Sherlock. You want the truth?'

'Yes, naturally,' Sherlock replied, walking to where John was standing.

'The fairies aren't real. None of what you have seen is real. You did something that got you so fucking high and you have imagined everything. There were no fairies, there was no roast to be cooked, the unicorns didn't destroy fairy land. None of it is real!' John found himself shouting near the end. He didn't know why he was so emotional, why this time was different. Then it hit him: Sherlock had said that he loved him, three times, John had even admitted that he loved Sherlock too, they had embraced, kissed even, and Sherlock wouldn't even remember any of it. And that fact had John's chest aching like he'd been shot.

Sherlock clenched his fists together and took one last step towards John, closing the space between them. His whole body tremoured. He was perhaps the angriest that he had gotten in the entire time he and John had been flatmates. His eyes were huge and even his unruly dark brown locks seemed to quiver in fury.

'Do you think this has been easy for me?' Sherlock hissed like a snake about to pounce on its pray. 'Do you think I fucking want this?' Sherlock rarely swore at John. In fact this was probably a first. He had sworn around John about everyday things such as how annoying Anderson was or because he couldn't figure out a case, yes, but he had never directed a swear word at him. It was a sure way to tell John he was truly pissed off.

'You think this is easy for _me?_' John countered. 'You think living with you is easy? You think putting up with your experiments is easy? Playing the violin at all hours of the night, your sporadic eating and sleeping habits, your experimental explosions in the kitchen are all easy to put up with? Do you think I want to put up with your insane experiments? Do you think I even want to put up with this experimentally induced high right now? No, Sherlock, I don't. But I endure as much as I can because you are my friend and I know how fragile you are even though you would never admit it. And do you know why I endure all this? Because I love you. I fucking love you more than you will ever fucking know and you don't even fucking care. So you think you have it hard? Try looking at this from my perspective and then tell me how fucking hard this entire thing is.'

Sherlock lunged forwards, pinning the doctor to a wall, grasping the man by the wrists, coiling his fingers so tightly around them they were leaving marks. He began to grind his body against John in frustration before smothering his hot and fiery mouth onto John's. He said nothing. His actions were angry enough to get across his fury.

John let out a small yelp of surprise as Sherlock pinned him to the wall, covering his entire body with his own. This was the angriest John had ever seen him and he didn't know what to expect. The hot, angry kiss was definitely not expected, causing him to gasp slightly, opening his mouth just enough that Sherlock's tongue was able to plunge inside. John tried not to moan, he really did, but the noise of pleasure came anyway and he kissed Sherlock back fervently.

Sherlock pulled back and pushed himself away from John. 'Have you ever wondered why I am constantly looking for ways to get high?' Sherlock snarled. 'No I don't think you have. I don't think you've thought about my reasons at all. Dammit John!' Sherlock swung his fist in the air and punched the wall, leaving a large dent only inches away from John. 'I know that none of this is real, but this is so much better than reality.' A bead of sweat hovered on Sherlock's forehead, and tears once again found their way into the detective's eyes.

John didn't know what to say. He hadn't ever thought about it in that way. That Sherlock was trying to escape reality. John understood. He tried to escape reality every time he went down to the pub and tried to pick up a woman, failing miserably, and returning back to the flat to collapse on the sofa if he was too drunk to make it up to his own bed. But it wasn't just reality John was trying to escape from. He was also trying to escape from himself, from his feelings for his flatmate. And he would succeed up until he woke up with a hangover, stumbled downstairs to take a shower, and saw Sherlock sitting in his chair in the living room. But he had never imagined that Sherlock used drugs to escape, he thought it was to calm his mind, allow him to relax just enough so that his mind wasn't spinning out of control.

'I... I'm sorry, Sherlock. I never thought of it like that. But please try to understand me when I say this: when you get high, not only are you gradually killing yourself, but you are also killing me. I don't want to come downstairs one day and find you lying dead in a pool of your own vomit. I don't want you to leave me alone like that, I don't want you to die because you don't like living in reality. If you're going to die it's going to be while chasing down a criminal, doing what you love with your partner. But I will not stand by and let you kill yourself with homemade drugs.'

'That's your problem John. You don't think, do you? You don't think when you go through practically ten women a week. You don't even consider how hurtful it is to blurt out that you're definitely not with me and that we as a couple are never going to happen to anyone you think has even the tiniest suspicion. You haven't ever considered that me playing the violin helps me express how I feel or that it's the only way I know how to. You just seem to think I do it to purposely annoy you. I think sometimes you forget that I am human and yes I do have a heart!' Sherlock was in a feverish temper and he wasn't about to stop there. 'So if that's your love John Watson you can stuff it. I would rather die.'

'You know, for someone who can deduce my military career in my leg and my sister's drinking habits in my mobile phone, you can be really thick. Look at me.' When Sherlock made no attempt to move, John stepped forward and clutched his friend's head in his hands, forcing him to look him in the eye.

'When I say that I find your playing the violin annoying, I do so because I know it will only cause you to play more often and louder. Because, in all honesty, I really like listening to you play. The music you compose is so beautiful. It speaks to me in a way music never has before, and I believe it is simply because you are the one who composed it. Your music is your feelings and emotions, Sherlock. When you can't put what you feel into words you make it into music and beautiful music at that. You are putting your heart and soul into what you compose and I have never heard anything more beautiful in my entire life.'

John paused to take a breath before continuing, trying to keep his tears at bay.

'When I tell you not to run experiments at night I do so because I know you will defy me and that is when you do your best work. And when you do your best work you're happy, you stop and eat or sleep, and when you're happy and taking care of yourself that makes me happy. I only tell you not to do something because I know you don't like being told what not to do, so you do it anyway and you end up doing your best and most brilliant work.'

Tears were beginning to slide down John's cheeks, but at that point he didn't care. If Sherlock thought John didn't care then damn it all he was going to pour his heart and soul out right then and there.

'And do you know why I do those things, Sherlock? Do you?' he demanded. Sherlock shook his head and a look of utmost upset spread across his features.

'You've been playing mind games with me for all this time. That makes you no better than Moriarty,' he stated sorrowfully. 'And the women you go through daily ... are they just part of your mind games too?'

'Moriarty played mind games with you because he was bored. I play "mind games" with you, as you so eloquently put it, because it lets you do what you love. And I do them because I love you and I want you to be happy.' John paused, his voice cracking at the end of his statement. He swallowed the lump in his throat as best as he could before continuing. 'And these women that I sleep with on a daily basis? Where did they come from? I haven't gotten laid in almost a month, Sherlock. I've found I have no interest in women anymore now that I've got you. Yes, when we first met there was Sarah, the one with the nose, the one with the spots, and the boring teacher, but didn't you notice anything odd about them all? In the end, they were all female versions of you. Tall, dark hair, bright blue eyes, smart in their own way. It took me a while to notice the pattern, but when I did I realized that I had fallen for you and women were a poor substitute for the real thing. So I stopped dating, started playing my "mind games" with you, and focused more on you than I ever had before.

'I'm sorry for not telling you my feelings outright, but this is you we're talking about here. You don't like sentiment, you see it as a weakness, and I didn't want to share my feelings for you because I was afraid you would shut me down like that first night in Angelo's.' John gently ran his thumbs over Sherlock's cheekbones, looking into his bright eyes, an embarrassed smile on his face.

'I do what I do because I love you you crazy git.'

Sherlock froze and began to slowly back away. His head thumped with the new knowledge John had given him. The effects of whatever chemical he had inhaled was taking a terrible toll on him too. Both of which were making him shake, groan, and feel physically sick. John noticed the change in his friend, felt rather than saw him stagger back. Sherlock's face left his hands, moving away from him. Something wasn't right.

'Sherlock? Are you alright?'

Sherlock's legs wobbled beneath him. 'Don't feel well,' he heaved through heavy breathing.

John could see what was about to happen, he should have expected it at some point. Based on Sherlock's track record with homemade drugs it was bound to happen sooner or later. He rushed forward to steady Sherlock, trying to steer him towards the sink before Sherlock vomited on the carpet or passed out and risked choking on his own vomit.

'God my head John.' Sherlock leant his head on John's shoulder. 'It hurts so bad.' He whimpered and upon seeing the sink he found himself wretching, the entire contents of his stomach spilling out, which wasn't much. Sherlock hadn't been eating properly for weeks now. John held onto Sherlock as he wretched into the sink, one arm wrapped around Sherlock's shoulders so his hand could rest on his clammy forehead, the other hand resting on one of Sherlock's as it gripped the edge of the counter tightly.

'I think we should get you into bed, Sherlock,' John said when Sherlock finished. 'You should get some rest, see how you feel in the morning.'

Sherlock sighed but without much choice nodded. He glanced down at his legs, not quite certain as to how much use they would be. 'John-' He winced, still feeling nauseous.

John suppressed a small smile as he bent down to carry Sherlock, bridal style, to his room. Thankfully Sherlock's bedroom door was already open, so John simply walked in and laid Sherlock down on his bed. He ran a hand across Sherlock's forehead again, noting how warm it was and also brushing some of Sherlock's curls off of the sweaty surface. He placed a small kiss on it and made to walk away.

'Don't go,' Sherlock growled as a threat. It was much to his humiliation a rather sleepy sounding threat.

John couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his lips. He toed off his shoes and stripped down to his pants and t-shirt, crawling into bed with Sherlock but avoiding any physical contact in case Sherlock was beginning to sober up and wouldn't appreciate it.

'I'll stay as long as you need me to,' John whispered to his flatmate.

'Don't pop back to fairy land in the middle of the night,' Sherlock whispered.

John chuckled. 'No worries there Sherlock. The fairies didn't seem to like me much anyway. You were much better company.'

'Good to hear.' Sherlock stretched out like a house cat and let off a noise very akin to a purr.

'Goodnight Sherlock.'

'Mmff, night.' Sherlock began to snore softly and was soon in a deep sleep.

John watched Sherlock sleep for hours as he couldn't bring himself to sleep. He wanted to be awake in case Sherlock became distressed or possibly might vomit again, and he didn't want him to choke in his sleep. He turned on his side and faced his sleeping flatmate, watching him as he slept rather peacefully. When he decided that Sherlock wasn't going to wake up any time soon, he made to go to the kitchen and clean up the sink. He didn't want Mrs Hudson walking in on that, and knowing her she would take it upon herself to clean it up. When he completed that task he went to organize the living room, which wasn't so bad except for the books and papers strewn about from Sherlock's attempt at flight. He moved back to the kitchen and made himself a cup of tea, spiking it a little bit so it both comforted and relaxed him. The entire experience had been emotionally draining, and he still couldn't believe he had actually admitted his feelings to Sherlock. Not that he would remember much of it anyway, but he would probably play it off as a hallucination. And while John was able to accept that, it still hurt that he wouldn't be able to truly share his feelings for his friend when his friend was so afraid of sentiment and seeming weak. That had happened already with Moriarty and the pool and he never wanted anything like that to happen again. He finished his spiked tea and left the mug by the kettle, heading back into Sherlock's room for the night.

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And that is the end of chapter one! Don't worry, chapter two is already finished, I just need to upload it here and have InvisibleBlade read over it. Go give her some love as she is the Sherlock to my John. Reviews are always appreciated, as is constructive criticism. Next chapter will be up soon!

TSA + IB


	2. Love and Scars

Yay! New chapter! Fastest update I've ever done! Enjoy!

John: me

Sherlock: InvisibleBlade

_Warnings for this chapter: smut, men going at it, drug side effects, smut, smut, abusive parents, and angst._

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Chapter Two – Love and Scars

When Sherlock awoke he felt strange. It was more than the usual kind of strange feeling he had received from chemically influenced highs. He felt, as most people would put it, 'turned on.' He groaned loudly, not realising he wasn't alone in his room.

John had finally managed to grab a few hours of sleep, restless, but sleep nonetheless. He turned over and stretched, his hands coming into contact with silk and warm flesh. He sighed in content, clutched onto the silk material, and burrowed his face into the chest of whomever he was sharing a bed with. Suddenly the events of the previous night came back to him and his eyes snapped open. He slowly lifted his head to meet the gaze of a very flustered and _very_ startled Sherlock.

'Um... good morning,' John said for lack of anything else to say. 'How did you sleep? Are you feeling any better?'

Sherlock found himself turning a startling shade of red. John had practically been clinging onto him. 'Uh-' He swallowed down hard. He couldn't remember anything. All he knew was that he and John were splayed out on a bed together, and that his super sleepy flatmate was doing something to him that he couldn't even describe. He was very, _very_ turned on right now.

John's face fell. He had expected this, but it still hurt.

'You don't remember what happened?'

'No. Why? What did I miss?' Sherlock asked, grinding his teeth and crossing his legs to try and stop a weird and unfamiliar burning sensation in his groin from occurring.

'Nothing important,' John sighed, avoiding eye contact. 'You concocted some sort of hallucinogen last night and imagined there were fairies everywhere demanding you cook them a roast.'

Sherlock chuckled. 'Oh yes, I do love it when those little friends appear.'

John looked up in surprise. 'You've imagined them before?'

'Oh yes. They're quite often guests in my hallucinations.' He frowned. 'Never can learn to fly though.'

John couldn't help but chuckle. 'Yes, I came in and you were standing on the desk, bare arsed, trying to fly.' John blushed and quickly added, 'I could only coax you down if I made you cocoa.'

Something about John's blush and the way he said arse was getting Sherlock worked up into a frantic internal frenzy. He hummed and crossed his legs tighter. What was wrong with him? John saw Sherlock squirm and felt his hum all throughout his body. He swallowed and risked a quick glance at Sherlock's face. It was flushed and it continued down his neck and most of his chest. It was then that John noticed how tightly Sherlock was clenching his legs together and he knew. He smirked knowingly and asked, 'Are you feeling alright, Sherlock?'

'Fine,' Sherlock retorted, wriggling away from John. 'It just seems the chemical is still rather affecting me.'

'"Chemical," right,' John grinned, wriggling closer. 'And have any of the other chemicals affected you in this way?'

'No,' Sherlock grimaced, glaring at John.

'Uh huh. Just as I thought,' John smirked, stroking Sherlock's dressing gown with his free hand. He decided to make the boldest move he had ever made while Sherlock was sober. Taking a deep breath, he looked into Sherlock's eyes and said, 'I can help you with that you know.'

'John!' Sherlock snapped, pulling away, refusing to even look at John's face.

He knew it was a long shot, but he at least tried. But the good doctor wasn't going to give up that easily. Steeling himself, he moved closer to Sherlock so they were chest-to-chest. Sherlock was still avoiding looking at him, but John didn't let that deter him. He leaned close and whispered, 'Don't be embarrassed, Sherlock. I made it perfectly clear that I wanted you last night, but I wasn't going to take advantage of you in such a vulnerable state. If you could remember what I confessed last night then you would understand, but I'm going to tell you here and now that I love you and there is nothing you can do about it.' He flushed deep red at the words he was about to say, but made himself say them anyway.

'I want to take your beautiful cock into my mouth, suck you with just the right amount of pressure until you're begging me to let you cum, and when I finally let you I want you to scream my name so everyone will know I am the one who made you feel that way.'

Sherlock stared at John wide eyed. 'I'm scared,' he admitted in frustration. The only thing that calmed him were John's words. 'You love me?' He crept cautiously closer before taking a daring move and pressing his already unbearably large bulge against John.

John moaned at the feeling of Sherlock's cock against his thigh. He clutched at Sherlock's dressing gown and buried his face in Sherlock's neck, his own arousal aching with the need to be touched. He lifted his head to gaze at Sherlock's face, noticing that it was as flushed with arousal as his own felt.

'Yes, of course I love you Sherlock. It took me a while to realize that fact, but I love you Sherlock. And I'm scared too. I've never done anything like this before. But I want to try with you, and only you.'

Sherlock hummed his approval and nodded. John smiled and leaned in close to Sherlock. _Best to start small_, he thought to himself. He let his gaze fall to Sherlock's mouth, licked his lips, and looked back up at Sherlock, letting him know of his intentions. Sherlock hated feeling this damn horny but he supposed he only had himself to blame by inhaling the chemical that had made him this way. He again nodded.

As soon as Sherlock nodded his assent John leaned in and kissed Sherlock gently at first, allowing him to get used to the feeling. His repressed feelings bubbled to the surface and he tangled his fingers in Sherlock's curls and pulled him closer, kissing him passionately. Sherlock found himself much to his own surprise kissing back just as hard. He groaned and began rubbing himself against John. His bulge was already incredibly enhanced by the chemical and it seemed it wasn't done growing. John moaned against Sherlock's mouth, rutting against him like a teenager. He could feel Sherlock's cock against his thigh and it seemed it was still growing.

_Good God, what was in that stuff he inhaled last night?_ John thought to himself. He didn't dwell on it for long because his body shifted just so that his cock aligned with Sherlock's and he gasped at the sensation. Sherlock threw back his head and moaned. His thrusting became frantic. It was clear John was near his limit but on the other hand Sherlock could keep going.

'I think I've invented by own brand of Viagra,' he gasped through gritted teeth as he relentlessly kept on growing.

'Fuck Sherlock,' John gasped. 'If the hallucinations weren't such a horrible side effect I would definitely like to try some of whatever the fuck you invented.' John grit his teeth and grasped Sherlock by his shoulders tightly, forcing him to lie on his back so John could straddle his waist. He dragged his hands down Sherlock's chest as he rutted against him, pre-come leaking through his pants as his cock strained against the fabric.

'Fuck,' he gasped. 'I'm close Sherlock.'

'Hang on in there.' Sherlock grit his teeth. How much larger could he get? It seemed his growth would never stop. He was surprised he hadn't burst his boxer shorts yet.

'Sherlock, if I cum first then I'm going to give you one of the best blow jobs of your entire fucking life.' John threw his head back and moaned as their hips had moved just enough to add just the right amount of friction. 'I want your beautiful cock in my mouth, I want you to cum down my throat, I want to know what you taste like.'

Sherlock flushed. 'I didn't know you were such a dirty bastard.' Sherlock bucked upwards. His eyes widened as he heard the ripping of material. Looking down he realized his cock had quite literally grown too big for its cage.

'There's a lot you don't know about me,' John smirked. When he heard the ripping of material he looked down to see that Sherlock's cock had grown so large that it had ripped right through his pants. John nearly came at the sight, but forced himself to hold on just a bit longer.

'Sherlock, god damn you have a beautiful prick,' he gasped. 'I want... I _need_ you to touch me Sherlock. Get me out of my pants so I can cum. Please.'

Sherlock cautiously tore John's pants from him. His heart pumped instantly faster as he was able to look on at John's own beautiful member. Sherlock gave it a playful squeeze. 'How am I doing?' he asked softly. John thrust into Sherlock's hand, crying out at the beautiful sensations running through his body.

'You're doing bloody fantastic, Sherlock. Oh fuck,' he gasped when Sherlock twisted his hand _just so._ 'Fuck, it won't take me much. Just don't stop.' Sherlock didn't stop. Not until John got what he wanted. He groped John with a bit more aggression and watched as he came.

'OH FUCK SHERLOCK!' John cried as his orgasm ripped through him. Sherlock's hand never stilled, squeezing him tighter as he came all over Sherlock's stomach. 'GOD YES! SHERLOCK! OH FUCK!' He continued to thrust into Sherlock's hand until he could barely move, finally collapsing onto Sherlock with a very satisfied moan. It took him a minute to gather his wits about him. That was quite possibly the best orgasm of his life. He was going to need some time to recuperate.

'Just... Just gimmie a minute and I swear, I swear to fucking _God_ Sherlock, that I am going to keep my promise and take that gorgeous prick of yours into my mouth and have you _begging_ me to let you cum.'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 'It may take me a while to beg.' He practically thumped John's cock with his own. 'As ridiculous as it sounds I think I'm going to get bigger.' It was true that even as they spoke the chemical's effect was still taking place.

'Don't care,' John mumbled. He nuzzled his nose against Sherlock's throat and licked from the dip at the base up to Sherlock's chin. 'I don't care if I can't take you all in my mouth; I am still going to suck that fucking gorgeous cock of yours until you cum with my name on your lips.' He sat up and ground his hips against Sherlock's arousal, grinning from ear to ear at the moan that seemed to roll straight out of Sherlock's chest. He slid down Sherlock's body, licking a trail as he went, and shoved the sheets away so Sherlock could see what he was doing. He grasped what remained of Sherlock's pants and ripped the rest away, leaving Sherlock in just his dressing gown sprawled on his bed with a massively engorged cock. He gently took it in his hand and squeezed at the base, lapping at just the head for a moment before asking, 'You ready?'

John didn't receive an answer. Damn this was happening so quickly. Sherlock had gone from being married to his work to a whimpering mess at John's mercy. His cock was so large it was hurting and tears shone in his eyes. Why couldn't he stop growing?

'Relax, love,' John said. 'It'll be alright, I promise.' He didn't give Sherlock time to process that he'd just called him 'love,' sucking the first two inches of his cock into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the head. He wasn't sure if he was imagining it or not, but it appeared that Sherlock's cock was still growing. Either the drug was seriously affecting him or Sherlock was hung like a horse.

Sherlock felt himself freeze at being called 'love' but hardly had any time to process it. 'Make it stop,' he croaked. 'The drug - make it stop. It hurts.' Sherlock shuddered. 'Too big John.' John was only encouraging the drug along. Sherlock was beginning to feel quite queasy, as though his blood supply was now only running into his cock. He'd already grown another two inches. John gripped Sherlock's hips, digging his fingers into the flesh as he sucked down another inch. Sherlock was still growing and the pleading in his voice concerned him. What could he possibly have inhaled that would cause such a drastic side effect? He worked faster, his hand wanking Sherlock's cock where his mouth couldn't reach.

Sherlock cried out and thrust deep into John's throat. He was still rock hard and with each lick he felt the drug affect him a little more. John gagged slightly when Sherlock thrust into his mouth, but he continued his work, twisting his hand in the way he knew he liked, sucking just enough to make Sherlock whimper. The man was still hard as a fucking rock but at least he seemed to have stopped growing. John sucked harder, his free hand going to fondle Sherlock's balls.

'Watson!' Sherlock yelped, making his thrusts harder as he lost control. John hummed as he managed to suck another few centimeters into his mouth without gagging. He could feel how deliriously close to the edge Sherlock was, how desperate he was to relieve the pressure and pain that his engorged cock was causing him. As a medical man John desperately wanted to give Sherlock that relief, but as the 'dirty bastard,' as Sherlock had so endearingly called him, wanted to deny Sherlock that relief as long as possible. He could taste the pre-come on his tongue, feel Sherlock's cock throb in his mouth, his desperation traveling through his cock into John's body. Saving his 'dirty bastard' side for later, John sucked harder until he felt Sherlock wriggling beneath him.

'Grr.' Sherlock pushed himself further into John's mouth. God he needed release. He was sitting on the edge but it seemed just as the chemical had engorged him it also led him not being able to find one... no matter how hard he thrust. John sucked down as much of Sherlock as he could, swallowing the head of his cock down his throat. Sherlock still hadn't cum and John imagined he must be in some amount of pain. He glanced up and saw Sherlock had his eyes shut tight and his jaw clenched, gritting his teeth. John decided that drastic measures needed to be taken, so he removed his hand from Sherlock's balls and held his fingertips against Sherlock's lips. He removed his mouth from Sherlock's cock long enough to give him a direct order:

'Suck.'

Sherlock did as he was told, sucking at John's finger with desperation. John moaned at the sickeningly sweet sounds coming from Sherlock's mouth as he sucked on his fingers. Sherlock's tongue swirled around John's fingers, slipping in between them every now and again, coating them with his saliva. The slurping sounds coming from Sherlock's mouth were so obscene but so deliciously divine, John could only imagine the sounds it would make if it was around his cock. He groaned at the image, his cock getting hard again at the prospect.

When he deemed his fingers slicked enough he slid them from Sherlock's mouth, nearly groaning at the loss of contact. But his fingers were needed elsewhere, and he was determined to get Sherlock the release he so desperately needed. He brought his hand slowly back to Sherlock's bum, spreading his legs further apart with his shoulders, and ran his now slick fingers down Sherlock's crack. He stopped at his tight hole, clenched with anticipation, swirling the pad of his index finger around it so it would relax. As the tension eased he was able to slide his finger in to the first knuckle, waiting for Sherlock's reaction.

Sherlock screamed in pleasure. He felt as though that should be enough to make him cum but it wasn't and his cock throbbed painfully. John pushed his finger in further, breaching the tight ring of muscle, slowly pumping his finger in and out, letting Sherlock stretch around him. He added a second finger, scissoring them to stretch Sherlock further. He found Sherlock's prostate when he added a third finger and stroked it gently. Tears rose in Sherlock's eyes as in one swift moment his entire body lurched up into the air.

'J-John!' he screamed at the top of his lungs, finally coming. John's free hand latched onto one of his hips to steady him, the other stroking his prostate every now and again to ride him through his orgasm. John swallowed down as much of Sherlock's cock as he could, a majority of Sherlock's cum sliding down his throat. But since the drug had given him such an engorged prick, it also gave him a prolonged and rather intense orgasm as well. John held on as long as he could but after nearly a minute John could barely breathe. He released Sherlock's cock with a pop and Sherlock continued coming on his own stomach.

_Jesus fucking Christ, he looks like he's in pain_, John thought. _I should probably do something to help._ He suddenly remembered that his fingers were still up Sherlock's arse and a wicked grin played across his face. Using Sherlock's cum as lube, John slicked his prick and positioned himself. He was still sensitive from his own orgasm so it wouldn't take him long to cum again. He eased himself inside slowly, reveling in how tight and warm Sherlock felt, easing out slowly, then thrusting back in. Sherlock's hands gripped the bed and he let out a long rolling moan. He bucked in the air as his body flailed badly and squirmed.

'J-ohn,' he whimpered in a small and terrified voice. John thrust into Sherlock harder, lifting him up by his hips slightly to hit his prostate at just the right angle. He felt the tension rolling off Sherlock's body, the fear in his voice at not being able to understand what was happening.

'I gotta work you through this, Sherlock,' John panted between thrusts. 'That fucking drug, Sherlock. God dammit, that fucking drug.' Sherlock screamed as his body was dragged through sexual pleasure for the first time. He felt his cock suddenly go completely rigid. He'd stopped coming and yet he was in the same state as before, if not worse.

'Damn that drug,' he cursed.

'Jesus fucking Christ, Sherlock,' John groaned as he continued fucking his friend (were they even just friends anymore? What happened after this?) 'What the fuck did you inhale? What chemicals did you use that would affect you so drastically?' Sherlock was hard as a fucking rock once again, so John reached forward and grasped Sherlock's prick in his hand, reaching for one of Sherlock's to wrap around his own. 'If we're going to get you through this I'm at least going to show you a few things. Now just follow my lead and when you feel confident enough you can take over.' He began stroking their hands along Sherlock's cock, slow and steady, twisting at just the right angle, squeezing with the right amount of pressure. 'How do you feel, Sherlock?'

Sherlock grit his teeth together. 'I have no idea. You know how I like to experiment.' The detective ground himself against John. 'And I feel like the biggest prick in the world,' he panted, glancing downwards. 'Literally.'

John couldn't help but laugh at that. 'Yes, Sherlock you can definitely be a huge prick, both literally and figuratively,' he chuckled. John's eyes sparkled with mischief and he stared deep into Sherlock's eyes as he flipped their positions, a devilish smirk on his face. Now Sherlock was riding John with a mild look of confusion on his face. 'Just move your hips, Sherlock,' John instructed.

Sherlock did as John said, and without much hesitation began moving his hips against John. John groaned at the feeling. For a man without much sexual experience, once he learned a trick or two _god damn_ was he good at it. John clenched his hands around Sherlock's hips, abandoning his grip on his prick to get some leverage so he could thrust up into Sherlock.

Sherlock cried out, 'John!' His eyes the narrowed. 'I am so getting my own back,' he growled, writhing frantically over John.

'I look forward to it,' John growled back, punctuating his intent with a sharp thrust of his hips. Sherlock thrust himself against John, forcing him in impossibly deep. This was just enough to take John by surprise. He then began grinding his entire body into John. John gasped and whimpered at the feeling of Sherlock practically _sitting_ on his cock, the tight heat and the pressure beginning to take him to the edge.

'Oh, _fuck_ Sherlock,' he groaned, pumping faster into Sherlock, ever faster to give himself the relief he so desperately needed. 'Fuck, _fuck!_ I- I'm close. Oh god, _yes!_' he cried, clenching onto Sherlock's hips so hard the bruises formed instantly. 'Sherlock, I- I'm, JESUS _FUCK!_ OH GOD YES! FUCK! _SHERLOCK!_' he screamed as he came.

Sherlock yelled, 'Jesus John!' He all but fell backwards onto the bed. He was in a horrid panting state. Glancing down at his cock he said, 'Now that's unfair.'

John tried to glare at Sherlock, he really did, but the look on Sherlock's face made him burst out laughing. It was a hearty laugh that he felt deep in his gut, a laugh he hadn't laughed in quite some time. He covered his face in his hands as his laughter died down, trying not to look at the offended and confused look on Sherlock's face.

'_You_ try fucking your drugged up on some extreme case of Viagra flatmate and see how long you last,' he said from behind his hands. 'Add to that a beautifully tight arsehole and see how long you last then.' John took a few deep breaths, still slightly giggling behind his hands. 'God Sherlock, if you could feel how fucking fantastic it feels to fuck someone. It's one of the best feelings in the world.'

Sherlock gulped, a little terrified. However it took him less than a second for Sherlock to raise his fingers to John's lips, 'Suck.'

John stared back wide-eyed. _Did Sherlock really just-?_ Sherlock's fingers were at John's lips before he could finish that thought, confirming anything he might have completed it with. For a brief moment John felt his stomach drop and he gulped, nervous at the prospect. But then he realized what an extraordinary opportunity he had just been presented, and he wasn't going to make it an ordinary experience for either party. He slowly caressed his fingertips from Sherlock's shoulder down his arm, gently taking his wrist in his hand and bringing his fingertips closer to his mouth. He opened his mouth slowly, starting with just his tongue on the pads of Sherlock's fingers, licking each one in turn. Then he took Sherlock's index finger in his mouth, sucking on it slowly, swirling his tongue around it like he did Sherlock's cock. He brought another of Sherlock's fingers in his mouth, sucking it in until it hit the back of his throat. He finally sucked in a third finger, weaving his tongue between each, coating them with as much saliva as possible to make the experience comfortable for them both.

Sherlock groaned slightly before pulling his fingers out. He glanced up at John as his fingers set out to mimic his actions. John instantly reacted to his fingers. John groaned at the feeling of Sherlock's fingers at his entrance. He tried to force himself to relax, to allow Sherlock easy entrance, but he was still sensitive from his orgasm and also slightly nervous. He bit onto a knuckle when he felt Sherlock breach the first ring of muscle, stifling a groan when it slid in entirely.

'Shh,' Sherlock whispered. 'Don't be scared.' The detective added his second and third finger with a little difficulty before slowly moving in and out of him.

'Now there's a strange turn of events,' John groaned as Sherlock added his other fingers. 'You telling me not to be scared.' John moaned and threw his head against the mattress, arching his back at the wonderful sensations running through his veins.

Sherlock smirked but didn't say anything. Leaning downwards he licked the tip of John's cock. Meanwhile his fingers worked frantically.

'Jesus _fuck_ Sherlock!' John cried out. He rolled his hips to grind down on Sherlock's fingers and push his cock closer to Sherlock's mouth. God dammit, he was getting hard again already. Sherlock swirled his tongue over John, swallowing him whole.

'Oh _fuck!_' John screamed. 'Oh god, yes. Fuck Sherlock!' He sat up on his elbows to watch, Sherlock's perfect cupid's bow wrapped so snugly around his cock. John was panting from all the glorious sensations running through him. He ground down on Sherlock's fingers, screaming when they brushed his prostate. 'Sherlock, I need your cock. I need it, _now,_' he demanded.

Sherlock adjusted his cock and removed his fingers and mouth. He was then quick to shove his large and impossibly engorged prick inside John. He moaned and began thrusting frantically. His cock throbbed, refusing to cum. John screamed in pleasure at the feeling of Sherlock's cock inside him. His hands gripped the sheets, his back arched off the mattress, and he yelled out simply because he felt like the entirety of London needed to know how fucking _amazing_ Sherlock was fucking him. He wrapped his legs around Sherlock's waist, pulling him slightly closer so he would reach deeper inside, clenching and unclenching his arse around Sherlock's cock. Sherlock mewled pitifully as he felt himself thrown over the edge and he came into John.

'Yes, Sherlock, yes,' John breathed, his voice having gone slightly hoarse from all the yelling. 'That's it, love. Cum for me.' He grabbed Sherlock's head in both his hands and pulled him down for a searing kiss, his tongue sliding into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock kissed John fiercely, pumping into him until he could no more. He wriggled out of John and smiled against the kiss. John smiled against Sherlock's lips, the kiss becoming less heated and more passionately slow. He loosened his grip on Sherlock's hair, sliding them through his curls and down his neck until he reached his muscular shoulders. He squeezed them gently, rocking his hips slowly against Sherlock, his cock still hard from Sherlock's attentions. Sherlock bit his lip at the sensation. His own cock was beginning to grow again and the pain from it was almost blinding.

'God John I'm exhausted,' he said in an almost inaudible voice. John had been so focused on getting Sherlock his release that he hadn't even considered their own staminas. John certainly wasn't twenty-four anymore, and Sherlock was so inexperienced that he would tire out faster anyway, especially since the drug had given him an engorged prick and intense orgasms. Now that he was brought back to reality he felt exhausted too, but something was nagging him at the back of his mind. Something he should have thought about before wrapping his lips around Sherlock's cock. Something he should have thought about before letting a massive amount of Sherlock's cum go down his throat into his digestive system.

'Sherlock... If you're still affected by this super-hallucinogen-Viagra... And I swallowed some of your cum... Am I going to get high as a fucking kite and then have an engorged prick later too?' he asked, swallowing in worry.

Sherlock's eyes lit up. 'That is a possible outcome.' He smirked. 'How do you feel? Describe it to me and I'll make a deduction.'

John swallowed. How did he feel? Suddenly he was paranoid about every little tingle and twitch in his body, chalking it all up to the drug he had accidentally ingested. He closed his eyes and forced himself to relax, taking a few deep breaths before he spoke.

'I feel... Euphoric,' he began. 'I feel calm even though my heart is beating rapidly. I feel satisfied even though my prick is still hard. I feel a little light-headed, a tad nauseous, and very tired.' He opened his eyes and looked into Sherlock's as he spoke his next words. 'But most of all I feel loved by the man I love.'

'Yup - all the side effects I felt.' Sherlock bit his lip for a moment. 'I wuv you too.' He locked eyes with John. 'Yes, I remember that.'

John stared at Sherlock, his words ringing in his ears. Not only did Sherlock say that he loved John too, but he remembered how he had said it last night. Was there anything else he remembered? No, that wasn't important. Not at the moment. John reached out and tenderly took Sherlock's face in his hands, his thumbs skirting across his cheekbones.

'Say that again,' he whispered, his eyes never leaving Sherlock's.

'You heard me. I wuv you,' Sherlock replied, cuddling up to John.

John smiled, wrapping his arms around Sherlock. 'No, I meant say it properly, love,' he whispered into Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock grinned. 'I love you.'

John grinned against Sherlock's neck, burying his nose where neck met shoulder, inhaling Sherlock's scent. Leaning back so he could look Sherlock in the eyes he whispered, 'I love you too,' and placed a gentle kiss on his lips. Sherlock smiled against John's lips but pulled back to look down at John's cock as he felt it pressing into him.

'It seems you were correct in saying my cum would affect you. How do you feel?' Sherlock licked his lips, searching for a delicate word. 'Horny?' he said with a giggle. It was John's turn to feel the pain of having an engorged prick. John groaned, clenching his jaw at the pressure in his cock that he had been trying to ignore. He should have known something was up when he got hard again minutes after having a second orgasm. But now his prick felt too big for its own skin, as if Sherlock's 'miracle Viagra' concoction was also one of those penis enhancing drugs that porn sites advertised all the time.

'God Sherlock,' John moaned. 'Horny doesn't even begin to cover it.'

'I'm really sorry John but this is going to hurt - at least by my experience it will.' Sherlock wrapped his fingers around John's cock. 'Try to relax. The more you're determined to cum the more you'll cease to.'

John groaned at Sherlock's words, but it quickly turned into a moan as Sherlock's fingers wrapped around his aching prick. His cock felt hot, scorchingly so, and Sherlock's cool fingers felt heavenly. It hurt, everything hurt, from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. Why did it all have to hurt so bloody much? He braced his feet on the mattress and began thrusting his hips, fucking himself in Sherlock's hand to bring himself the relief he so desperately needed.

'Fuck, it hurts Sherlock,' he grit out. 'It all hurts so much. Make it stop, Sherlock. Make it stop.'

Sherlock winced and tried not to think about how much pain he himself was in. He had to focus on John. 'Relax,' he commanded. 'Just relax.' His fingers set out to work.

John clenched his eyes shut, trying to listen to Sherlock's command, but it was hard when his head was beating like a drum and his prick was pulsing and growing with nearly every beat of his heart. His legs relaxed, letting Sherlock help him himself, and hands fisted in the sheets instead.

'Sherlock,' John whimpered.

'Shhh.' Sherlock kissed John. 'Cum for me John.' He pulled extra hard in the hope it would be the stimulation John needed. John cried out, his back arching off the bed, but he hadn't cum. Tears were falling down his cheeks now. God everything hurt so bad.

'Sh-Sherlock,' he rasped out. 'Your fingers... Your cock... Anything. Just, use something.' Sherlock aligned his cock with John's and began rubbing against him to show him how him how large his predicament had become.

'We'll ride the pain together.'

'Sher-lock!' John cried, one of his hands reaching out to their pricks to twine his fingers with Sherlock's. He pumped their hands faster, twisting their wrists around their heads in the way John liked. He thrust into their hands, trying to get himself to cum, but the more he tried the more his prick hurt. 'Sher... Sherlock,' he gasped.

The two men were lost in a world of agony. Both were grunting, thrusting, moving rapidly. Sherlock's heart was pumping so fast he could barely think. 'Ah!' he yelped feeling himself and John growing rather than getting any relief. In a brief moment of clarity, John realized what needed to be done in order for him and Sherlock to get the relief they so desperately needed. He took his free hand and clutched the back of Sherlock's head, pulling him down for a searing kiss.

'Focus on this, Sherlock,' he whispered against Sherlock's lips. 'Focus on the kiss, on me, on anything other than the pain. Let your heartbeat relax.' He kissed him again, his own words suddenly helping him relax himself. 'Just. Focus. On. Me,' he punctuated between kisses. Sherlock melted into John. He focused on the hot lips of the other man. His cock gave a twitch of joy, threatening to cum.

John melded himself to Sherlock, wanting to get as much skin on skin contact as possible. That turned out to be easier said than done as Sherlock was still in his dressing gown and John was still wearing a t-shirt. With some effort, he managed to remove his hand from their cocks so he could lift his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. Once his bare chest connected with Sherlock's, their lips melded back together, and his hand had rejoined Sherlock's on their cocks, he sighed in relief at the different levels of contact, his cock twitching as he neared his release.

Sherlock moaned as with an involuntary buck rippled through his body to his engorged cock and he began to slowly but surely cum. John moaned into Sherlock's mouth, moving their hands a little faster to help Sherlock along. He tried not to focus on his own cock, instead focusing on their kiss and his tongue delving into Sherlock's mouth and the pulsating of Sherlock's cock as he came and how fantastic it felt in his hand and against his own cock—

'Oh fuck,' John moaned as he finally began cumming. He thrust into their hands, breaking their kiss to bite down on the part of Sherlock's neck where it met his shoulder, sucking long and hard to leave a mark. Sherlock moaned happily, mimicking John's actions with his hands.

'Fuck indeed,' Sherlock muttered.

'God, it hurts but it feels so fucking _good_,' John moaned. He was still cumming, but it was slow and intense, not nearly as powerful as Sherlock's first drugged orgasm. He supposed it was because he'd cum twice already and was thankful for that fact. Sherlock whimpered and all but collapsed against John in exhaustion.

'I can't do this anymore,' he croaked painfully, eyes sliding shut. 'Too tired,' he muttered. 'Fuck I am too tired for this pain.'

'I think... I think we should try to sleep,' John agreed, panting from the exertion of his orgasm. 'Maybe by the time we wake up the drug's effect will have worn off.'

Sherlock nodded but that was going to be difficult. Even with his exhaustion it was going to be hard to ignore the need to touch John, claiming him as his own. John was exhausted. All he wanted to do was sleep for three days, preferably with Sherlock by his side. He never wanted Sherlock to be out of his sight again, he always wanted some sort of physical contact with him, always wanted to be by his side. At that moment John wanted Sherlock as bare he was, full skin on skin contact, nothing between them, not even the bed sheets.

'Maybe... Maybe you should take your dressing gown off Sherlock,' John suggested. 'Aren't you hot wearing that after... all this?' Sherlock swallowed a little nervously. He had quite bad scars trailing down his back dating from when he'd been a child. Despite the fact John had scars of his own and as an army doctor would have seen much worse that didn't stop his worrying.

'I'm fine,' he whispered, voice cracking. John gave Sherlock a small smile, a hand reaching up to caress Sherlock's face.

'You don't have to be embarrassed, love,' he said. 'After what we've done, what would you have to be embarrassed about?' Sherlock gulped, terrified. He supposed he could sleep facing towards John but still. With an exhausted sigh he reluctantly wriggled out of the dressing gown. John gave him a reassuring smile, stroking his hands languidly over Sherlock's chest.

'See? That isn't so bad, is it?'

Sherlock's heart was thudding painfully out of control. 'I suppose not,' he mumbled into John's chest quietly. John saw Sherlock's reluctance in his face, could sense his embarrassment when he buried his face in John's chest. He placed his arms tentatively around Sherlock, resting them in between his shoulder blades.

'Is everything alright, Sherlock?'

'Not entirely – no,' Sherlock whispered, freezing in John's arms.

'Do you want to talk about it?' John asked, stroking Sherlock's back reassuringly. Sherlock flinched as John's hand brushed past one of the more painful scars.

'It's nothing.'

As John stroked Sherlock's back, the tips of his fingers passed over something that made Sherlock flinch. John craned his neck to try to see. Sherlock instantly tried to crawl away from John but the older man was faster than him.

John saw the marks. Faded and old, some criss-crossed over each other, some looked like cigarette burns, and then there were the raised marks that looked like they never healed properly or were quite possibly always upset and left such horribly looking scars. John's gut dropped at the sight. Who did all that to Sherlock? _His_ Sherlock. He didn't know what to say, and he didn't really want to ask since Sherlock had tried to hide his scars from him in the first place. So he just held him, letting him know that it was all fine, that he didn't need to explain if he didn't want to. He just held him, not moving, just listening to his heartbeat.

Sherlock didn't know how to respond to John seeing his scars. No one had ever seen them - only him and his useless excuse of a father.

'Say something,' he pleaded. 'Anything.' Was John's silence because of horror, because he didn't want anything to do with someone so dramatically damaged - physically and mentally? John clutched Sherlock closer, his forehead resting on Sherlock's.

'I love you,' John whispered. 'I love you and I'm so sorry.'

Sherlock swallowed down hard. 'Don't be.'

John opened his eyes to gaze into Sherlock's, afraid to ask but wanting to know. He wanted to respect Sherlock's privacy, but he wanted to know who had hurt him so badly so he could hunt the fucker down and make him feel the pain Sherlock had felt. Not that it would right the wrongs, but it would certainly make John feel better.

Sherlock stared deeply into John's eyes. 'What are you thinking now?' he asked, voice soft and timid.

John sighed, his eyes never leaving Sherlock's. 'I'm thinking that... That I want to,' John paused, not sure that he wanted to admit what he wanted to do. He swallowed, deciding that honesty might be best after all they'd been through in the past twelve hours. 'I want to hunt down whoever hurt you, to make him-or her-feel the same pain. I know it won't fix what happened to you, but it would make me feel a lot better.'

'I wouldn't worry about that. He's been dead for a while,' Sherlock informed John. 'As much as I appreciate the offer.'

John paused, his gaze flickering across Sherlock's face briefly before he let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding. A hand went to brush Sherlock's curls out of his face, settling on his cheek, not just to comfort Sherlock but to comfort John as well. He rolled them over into their sides so they were facing each other, John resting his forehead against Sherlock's and closing his eyes as he made himself breathe.

'While that bit of news gives me a sense of relief,' he whispered, 'I am still so very, very sorry that that happened to you.' His hand left Sherlock's face to hold one of Sherlock's, lacing their fingers together. He gave Sherlock a small peck on the lips before moving his head to rest under Sherlock's chin, pressing himself as close to the man as possible, their hands between their chests feeling their respective heartbeats.

'I love you, Sherlock,' John whispered, pressing his nose closer to Sherlock's skin. 'I love you so much. And _nothing_, or no _one_, is ever going to harm you again. Not while I'm around.'

Something stirred within Sherlock and a tear drop slid from his eye. 'I love you too. I love you so much it hurts.'

John tried to swallow a lump in his throat, choking on the emotions that were bubbling to the surface. He ran his thumb over Sherlock's cheek, wiping away the single tear, his own eyes filled with tears threatening to spill over. John didn't dare risk talking, he knew if he tried not only would he choke on his words but he would start blubbering incoherently, so he just kissed Sherlock, letting his emotions and feelings flow from his lips to Sherlock's. Sherlock moaned softly against the kiss. It was enough to calm him down and bring him down from his emotional high. He closed the inch of space between him and John, entangling his limbs in his.

John sighed in content, melting into Sherlock. He clutched Sherlock's hand tighter, his other clasped onto Sherlock's head, his fingers tangled in Sherlock's hair. He kissed Sherlock slowly, no sexual intent behind it, no tongues, just lips.

'Let's get some rest, Sherlock,' John said after breaking their kiss. 'Whenever we wake up we can clean ourselves up, maybe go out for dinner. I don't care what we do just so long as we're together.'

Sherlock hummed, 'Dinner sounds great.'

John smiled, holding Sherlock close. 'Good. We'll get dinner. Now, close your eyes love, get some sleep.' He pecked a small kiss on Sherlock's forehead. 'I love you,' he whispered before resting his head under Sherlock's chin and slowly drifting off to sleep.

* * *

Just so everyone knows, we've been doing this RP for close to two months now, and I have 20 planned chapters for this due to our lengthy RP. So look forward to all those! I'll try to space them out so I'm updating this around once a week. I think every Monday will be good. Red Pants Monday and all that ;)

See you next week!

TSA + IB


	3. Friends and Lovers

It's the morning after! Let's see how it plays out, shall we? ;)

Sherlock: InvisibleBlade

John: Me

Warnings for this chapter: men going at it, light BDSM, some dom/sub action, angst, suicidal thoughts, and John being a cock tease.

* * *

Chapter 3 – Friends and Lovers

Sherlock woke tangled in a mass of limbs. His mind felt sluggish and it took him one scary moment to realize where he was and whose limbs he was entangled in. His heart fluttered with a strange kind of joy as he looked on at his peacefully sleeping flatmate and all of the night's events came flooding back to him. His breath caught in his throat as John began to stir. Not wanting to break the all too perfect moment he closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep.

John groaned and nuzzled his head closer to Sherlock, slowly waking up from a deep sleep. It had been dreamless, he was warm, and he couldn't remember having slept better in his life. He opened his eyes and blinked a few times, adjusting to the sunlight streaming in through the window. His gaze fell on his and Sherlock's hands, still holding the other. John gave Sherlock's hand a small squeeze and he whispered, 'I know when you're pretending to be asleep, love.'

Sherlock burst into uncontrollable laughter. He opened his eyes, a smirk pulling at his lips. He instantly attacked John's lips with his smirking ones. John didn't hesitate when Sherlock kissed him, pulling him closer, kissing him passionately. Now that he was allowed to he knew he would be kissing Sherlock as often as he could, except maybe around the Yard where he knew they had a pool going on whether he and Sherlock were in a relationship or not. But while it was just the two of them, John wasn't going to hold back. He ran his tongue along Sherlock's lower lip, asking if he would grant him entry.

Sherlock allowed John's tongue to slide down his throat. A smile pulled at his features as he began to gently and subtly move against John. Despite the fact the detective was no longer drugged up he couldn't help but feel compelled to want to tease John with his lower half. John moaned into Sherlock's mouth, his tongue exploring new territory. He clutched his hand tighter in Sherlock's hair, trying to get his tongue deeper down Sherlock's throat. The man was wriggling his hips, the movement making John's cock stir. For a brief second John feared he was still affected by the drug, but when his cock didn't throb painfully in an instant, he began to relax. He moved his hips in turn, encouraging Sherlock to continue his movements.

Sherlock groaned softly. His groin ached badly from last night's overuse. That should have deterred him from grinding himself against John but it only whirled him on. John groaned as his cock began to stir. His body was still completely exhausted after last night, but he still wanted Sherlock. He forced himself to stop moving, nipping Sherlock's lip when he gave a moan of protest.

'You know Sherlock, there is this wonderful thing called shower sex that I think we should try,' he said, his eyes boring into Sherlock's.

Sherlock pulled back and hummed. 'I'd happily oblige except I'm rather afraid that I might not be able to walk for awhile.'

John pondered that for a moment before smiling gently. 'Turn onto your stomach, love. I'm going to give you a massage.'

Sherlock rolled over, wincing slightly. A small whimper escaped his lips.

'Shh,' John hushed. 'Now don't move. I'm just going to run upstairs to grab something.' He planted a small kiss on Sherlock's head and dashed out the door to run to his room. Unlocking his bedside drawer he grabbed the oil and lube, knowing what direction the massage would head in. He sped down the stairs and back to Sherlock's room where Sherlock was still on the bed where John left him. He smiled and sat the lube on Sherlock's bedside table where he knew he would see it. He then moved to straddle Sherlock's back, his bum resting on Sherlock's. He let out a small moan at the contact, his cock twitching eagerly.

'I'm going to make you feel all better,' John whispered into Sherlock's ear, biting the lobe gently in promise of events to come. He opened the bottle of oil and drizzled some along Sherlock's back, making sure to avoid any scars that looked especially painful. He set the oil aside and his hands went to work on Sherlock's shoulders first, working to ease the knotted tension there.

Sherlock moaned softly and his cock twitched in joy. John's hips gave an involuntary buck at Sherlock's moan. He gripped Sherlock's shoulders tightly, trying to calm himself down enough to at least get one area of Sherlock relaxed. He needed to at least get Sherlock's legs in a better state so he would be able to stand and walk without much difficulty. Otherwise their dinner plans would have to be postponed. But first he needed to work his way in that direction, and his first obstacle was Sherlock's back. He attempted to move his hands lower, but he felt the tension in Sherlock's shoulders warn him that he wasn't particularly fond of that idea. He brought his hands back up to Sherlock's shoulders, squeezing gently to get him to relax again. Taking a deep breath John leant down and whispered, 'Trust me, I'm a doctor,' into Sherlock's ear before gently moving his hands down Sherlock's scarred back.

'God John,' Sherlock clung to John. 'I hope you know this is all your fault,' he joked.

John smirked. 'I accept responsibility for turning you into an insatiable sex god,' he replied. He slid down Sherlock's legs, letting his cock rub against Sherlock's arse before continuing downward. John's hands skated across Sherlock's back, not wanting to push Sherlock too far out of his comfort zone. John massaged Sherlock's lower back for a moment before sliding his hands over Sherlock's taut arse, squeezing it gently and leaning to nip the spot just above the crack. Sherlock flinched as John's fingers skidded past one of the more painful scars. Sherlock was soon distracted however by the sudden lurch his cock gave.

'You better bloody well treat me like a god,' he gasped.

'Always,' John replied, playfully nipping Sherlock's right cheek. His hands finally made it onto Sherlock's legs, massaging the muscles in his thighs, moving down to his calves, and back up again. When the muscles were no longer pliant and had regained some of their strength John looked up at Sherlock, his eyes dark with lust. 'Now turn over so I can worship your cock.'

'Careful - still sensitive,' Sherlock whimpered but did as John asked anyway.

'After all we did last night you'll probably be sensitive for a while,' John said as one of his hands grabbed Sherlock's cock and gave it a quick stroke. Sherlock's eyes widened as he felt his body respond to John's touch.

'And you? Are you in any pain?' Sherlock croaked, reaching out a hand to touch John's own rather sore looking member. John gasped at Sherlock's touch, his cock a lot more sensitive than he thought it would be. Then again, he did cum three times, and one was torturous and delayed due to Sherlock's painful-yet-miraculous Viagra concoction.

'Not in pain so much as extremely sensitive,' John ground out. His hips bucked into Sherlock's touch and his hand began to stroke Sherlock slowly.

'We really did a number to each other, didn't we?' Sherlock moaned through the question. He moved to one of John's balls and squeezed it lightly, rather enjoying John's vocal reaction.

'Yeah we diiiiiiiiiid,' John gasped in shock, his voice going up an octave when Sherlock squeezed. The arm that he had been using to hold himself up gave out and he collapsed onto Sherlock. 'Fuck, do that again.' Sherlock was more than happy to oblige.

'There's a good boy Jonathan,' he mocked, before using his other had to spank the living daylights out of his flatmate. John yelped at the sharp sting of Sherlock's hand on his arse. When Sherlock didn't let up his entire body shuddered, his cock twitching in Sherlock's hand despite the pain, and he raised his arse in the air to allow Sherlock better access. He buried his face in the crook of Sherlock's neck and whimpered every time another blow landed on his reddening cheeks.

'How are you John?' Sherlock chuckled, making each spank more forceful than the previous. His blogger certainly wouldn't be able to sit down in a while. John couldn't form any coherent sentences, he was in the blissful place where pain turned to pleasure and he never wanted to leave. He managed to cry out in ecstasy when Sherlock gave a particularly hard slap and twisted his hand around John's cock at the same time, biting down onto Sherlock's shoulder.

'Shh, darling,' Sherlock said fondly. He gently brought his lips to John's as he ran his hand up and down John's cock. The other hand was simply caressing his lover's reddened butt cheeks. John moaned into Sherlock's kiss, pumping his hips in time with Sherlock's strokes on his cock. God, he was so close.

Sherlock carried on pumping John's cock. 'You're beautiful,' he whispered. 'And you're all mine.'

'Yes, Sherlock, yours,' John gasped out. His thrusts were becoming erratic he was so close. 'Yours, Sherlock,' he whispered mostly to himself. 'Yours.' John cried out as he was finally brought over the edge, spilling himself all over Sherlock's hand and stomach. Sherlock held John as he came tightly.

'And I am yours. But then, I always have been.' John collapsed against Sherlock, panting, his heart beating erratically.

'Mine,' he whispered against Sherlock's neck. 'Yes, Sherlock.' He sat up to look Sherlock in the eye. 'You. Are. Mine,' he breathed against Sherlock's lips before kissing him. Sherlock writhed impatiently underneath John's body, kissing him back. He rubbed himself against John to tell him that he very much needed some attention too.

'You didn't think I forgot about you, did you love?' John smirked against Sherlock's lips. 'Oh, quite the contrary. All I've been thinking about is how can I make you _squirm_ for me?' He snaked a hand down Sherlock's torso, stopping just before his fingertips reached the head of Sherlock's cock. His other snatched the lube from the table, holding it in front of Sherlock's face for him to analyze. 'And would you like to know what I've decided?'

Sherlock's breath caught in his throat. 'I have a fair idea, yes.' His cock seemed to perk up, as though it knew it was going to come.

John grinned wickedly as he slid down Sherlock's torso, carefully avoiding touching Sherlock's cock. He lifted Sherlock's knees and placed them on his shoulders, revealing Sherlock's arse in all its glory. John glanced up at Sherlock, mischief dancing in his eyes. He popped open the tube of lube and squeezed some onto his fingers, rubbing them together to warm the gel. He brought his fingers to Sherlock's hole and easily slid two fingers inside as Sherlock was still stretched from last night. He curled them slightly and found Sherlock's prostate, gently dragging his fingers across it as he pulled them out. He pushed them back in and repeated the motion, stimulating Sherlock's prostate while blatantly ignoring Sherlock's throbbing cock.

All Sherlock could do to stop himself from yelling out was to bite his lip. He groaned and tried his best to all but shove his unintended cock in John's line of sight. His cock was throbbing and he was already dangerously close. He brushed it across John's mouth. John's tongue darted out before he could stop it, licking the head of Sherlock's cock as it brushed against his lips. _Sod the rest of the game_, he thought. _Make him __**squirm. **_He batted Sherlock's hand away and took his cock into his own hand, his other buried three fingers deep in Sherlock's arse.

'Don't be so quiet Sherlock. Go ahead and _scream_ for all to hear that _John Watson_ is the one making you feel such pleasure,' he nearly growled before taking Sherlock's cock into his mouth and swallowing him whole. It was considerably easier this time around as Sherlock's cock wasn't so massively engorged.

Sherlock couldn't hold back any longer. He screamed. He screamed John's name until his throat was sore. John growled around Sherlock's cock, loving that he and only he could put Sherlock in such a position. He swallowed around Sherlock's cock, his fingers stimulating Sherlock's prostate, and his other hand going to fondle Sherlock's balls. Sherlock felt himself cum and his seed gushed down John's throat. He sputtered out one more cry of his lover's name before collapsing onto the bed panting. John swallowed all Sherlock gave him, his mouth sliding off Sherlock's cock with an obscene pop. He wiped off his mouth and sucked his fingers clean, feeling so utterly filthy but not caring in the slightest.

'So, Sherlock, do you feel like a god?' John smirked.

Sherlock chuckled through a deep breath. 'Oh, yes,' he replied.

'Good,' John grinned. 'I'm going to go take a shower. Don't pop off to fairy land while I'm gone.' He kissed Sherlock soundly and crawled out of their bed, humming to himself with a triumphant smirk on his lips.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 'I thought we were taking one together.' John stopped in his tracks, his hand poised just above the door handle. He turned to look at Sherlock, his eyes dark with desire again already.

'If you can walk you're more than welcome to join me,' he said with a wink. Sherlock crawled out of bed, his groin protesting all the way. He winced but managed to grit his teeth through the pain.

'I think I'll be able to make it,' he panted. John held out a hand, his fingers reaching out for Sherlock's, mischief in his smile. Sherlock squeezed John's hand, a smile of his own placed firmly on his features. John was clearly thinking that he'd play nice in the shower. That wasn't the case at all. Sherlock was planning on playing as dirty and as unfair as possible. John squeezed Sherlock's hand in return, thinking it was a gesture of comfort instead of a promise of very dirty things to come.

He opened the door out to the hallway, checking to make sure Mrs Hudson wasn't around. When he deemed it clear he gently pulled Sherlock along behind him, resisting the urge to push him against the wall and jump him. He was quite proud of himself when they made it to the bathroom without any sort of intimate touch or the like. He was shocked that he didn't jump Sherlock as soon as the bathroom door closed, but he knew the time would come once they were in the shower together, the water beating down on them, the moisture and humidity creating the perfect steamy atmosphere. As John turned the shower on Sherlock clambered in, waiting patiently, thinking of one thing only. He grabbed John's arm and pulled him in. He loomed over the shorter man, eyeing him up appreciatively. He curled his arms around John before shoving him under the running water and pinning him against the wall.

The water from the shower had yet to warm properly, so John was shivering when Sherlock shoved him under the spray. That didn't stop him from letting out a wanton moan, staring into Sherlock's eyes as he did so. He forced himself to keep his hands to himself. Sherlock was in control this time and John's body practically vibrated in anticipation of what Sherlock was going to do to him. Sherlock first and foremost had his priorities straight. He kissed John heavily before lifting him up and pinning him in place against the wall. His cock aligned with John's arse and he grinned against John's lips.

John didn't speak. He didn't need to. He just wrapped his arms around Sherlock's shoulders, kissing him hard, and wriggled his arse against the head of Sherlock's cock, his way of telling him, 'What are you waiting for? Just fuck me already!'

Sherlock pulled back and chuckled. 'I don't think so, do you?' He then went about pressing every inch of his skin to John's teasingly. John moaned his protest but stopped wriggling.

_Sherlock is in control, Sherlock is in control,_ he reminded himself. He wrapped his legs around Sherlock, pulling him closer, their skin sliding against each other's. John turned his head to the side, exposing his neck invitingly. Sherlock sunk his teeth into John's neck, biting down long and hard, before sucking to leave a bright red mark for all the world to see. John moaned out an 'Oh fuck yes' when Sherlock sank his teeth into his neck. One of his hands gripped the back of Sherlock's head, holding him there until the spot became tender and sore.

'Yes. Mark me Sherlock. Make me yours. Let everyone know who I belong to.' Oh Sherlock was most certainly going to mark John. He moved lower down to John's collar bone and scraped his teeth against it. All the while he pressed his erection against John in what must have been unbearable torture for the doctor.

John was shaking. His entire body was shaking. The water had long since warmed by now, so John was shaking for three entirely different reasons. One, Sherlock's teeth on his collar bone leaving love bites and more marks in their wake. Two, John's muscles were straining from keeping him against the wall and not slumping against Sherlock. And three, Sherlock's cock was just rubbing against his arse which was still tender from the spanking he'd received not so long ago. John knew what Sherlock's game was. He was trying to make John beg, to get him to the point where John was a whimpering flustered mess he was so aroused. John wasn't going to give in that easily, but it was going to be hard, especially with Sherlock's cock so close to where he wanted it to be and Sherlock's mouth doing wonderful beautiful things to his skin. John let out a whimpering moan, pressing the side of his face against the cool tile of the shower.

Sherlock pressed his cock harder against John. He began to gently move his hips against John. He was going to make John beg for him; something he never imagined doing before now. He stuck out his tongue and began running it over the many love bites he'd marked John with.

He was on fire. His entire body was on fire. He needed relief from the way Sherlock's tongue ran over the bites he'd given. He needed relief from being pressed so tightly against the tile that he was sure there would be lines against his back for hours. But mostly he needed relief from the way Sherlock's cock was just rubbing between his arse cheeks, how slowly Sherlock was moving his hips against him. John let out a whimper when Sherlock grazed his teeth against one of the many hickies he had left, but he didn't give in. _I'm not going to give in. I'm __**not**__ going to give in_, he repeated over and over in his head. The hand that wasn't in Sherlock's hair gripped one of Sherlock's shoulders, the nails biting into the skin leaving angry little crescent moons in the pale skin. He wasn't going to give in and beg just yet. Neither of them wanted the game to be over so soon. So John just whimpered again and rolled his hips against Sherlock's, telling him he was going to need to do more than plant a few love bites to make John Hamish Watson beg for the cock of Sherlock Holmes.

Sherlock smirked. It was going to be like that was it? He pulled back slightly. John would have to beg if he even wanted contact with his cock back let alone what Sherlock really knew he wanted. Still pinning John up he slid a hand down to John's throbbing member and gave it a quick squeeze. It was clear that John wouldn't be able to take much more of his touches. John let out a sound that was between a moan and a strangled gasp. Sherlock's teasing cock was gone but now one of his hands was on John's cock. John clenched his eyes and jaw shut, his cock pulsing in Sherlock's hand.

'Sherlock, please,' he ground out before he could stop himself. 'Don't wanna cum like this.'

'Then what are the magic words?' Sherlock twisted his hand teasingly. 'I'm all yours but you have to beg.' John didn't want to give in but Sherlock's hand was unrelenting on his cock and he was already so close from the teasing and anticipation. He never wanted it to end but he needed relief. His gaze caught Sherlock's and any defense he had left was gone when he saw the hunger and determination in Sherlock's eyes.

'Please, Sherlock, please. I want your cock in my arse, I want you to make me scream, I want _you_. Please, Sherlock. Fuck me. Please.'

Sherlock smirked and rolled his eyes. 'Why didn't you just say so?' he said in amusement. He leaned his entire body back before thrusting himself into John. There were no fingers so it must have been painful for John. However for now the detective didn't care. He pounded himself into John with no mercy. John screamed when Sherlock finally entered him. He was still slightly stretched from last night but the burn of Sherlock's cock entering him was still there. His legs pulled Sherlock closer to him, his heels digging into Sherlock's backside.

'Sherlock,' he choked out. 'Don't stop. Don't ever stop.'

Sherlock couldn't stop even if he wanted to. He was blinded by lust. His thrusts became more manic and with it his cock pulsed. John was a whimpering mess he was so aroused, exactly what he said he didn't want to be, but at the moment he didn't care. All he cared about was that Sherlock was fucking him with reckless abandon against the shower wall, his cock trapped between their bellies, and he was close, so deliciously close.

'Sherlock, neck, pulse, _bite it_,' John demanded, turning his head so the vein in his neck stood out. 'You have to _bite it_.' Sherlock heeded John's wishes, sinking his teeth into his lover's neck as hard and as deep as he could. He was close now. So close. John gasped and writhed against Sherlock, his hand digging into Sherlock's shoulder so hard that his nails drew blood. He could feel Sherlock's tongue on his pulse, his cock throbbing in his arse. God, he was so close. He rocked back on Sherlock's cock, his own rubbing against Sherlock's stomach, Sherlock sucking on his pulse–

'Oh fuck Sherlock!' he cried as he began cumming, clamping his arse tightly around Sherlock's cock, hoping to get him to cum as well. Sherlock's eyes flew to the size of saucepans. He gritted his teeth and with one last thrust felt himself spill into John. His whole body quivered and he had to hide his head in the crevice of John's neck.

'Jawwn,' the doctor's name distorted on the tip of his tongue. 'Fuck!' he exclaimed. John clung to Sherlock tightly, his entire body having gone limp from the intensity of his orgasm. His legs hung limply against the wall, the muscles shaking from being wrapped so tightly around Sherlock's waist. His arse was sore from the pounding and spanking Sherlock had given him. But despite all that John had never felt more alive, thoroughly fucked, and loved. He ran a hand over Sherlock's wet hair and placed his palm on his cheek, gently coaxing his lover (yes, that was what they were now, still friends but lovers too) to look at him. He caressed Sherlock's cheek with his thumb before offering him a very chuffed smile.

'I love you, Sherlock,' John told his lover. 'I love you so much.'

'I love you too. I've never felt such belonging than when I'm with you,' Sherlock said, pecking John on the lips and lowered his now limp body down.

John giggled softly, his hand still caressing Sherlock's face. 'If you ever belonged anywhere it was with me, by my side. Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson,' he said, leaning against Sherlock to keep himself upright. 'And if you ever feel dejected or alone, know that I will always be there for you no matter what. Because you are mine, and I am yours, and we belong together.'

Sherlock kissed John for a long stretch of time. When he pulled back he laughed heartily. 'We should really participate in an actual shower. Look at the mess we're in.'

John laughed with Sherlock. It was true. While he _had_ intended to actually clean himself up in the shower, it hadn't happened in the way he had hoped. He had wanted to clean Sherlock first, lathering him up (literally and figuratively), while slowly sucking on his cock. He didn't know where his sudden fascination with Sherlock's cock came from but he couldn't be arsed to care. He loved sucking on Sherlock's cock almost as much he enjoyed it up his arse. He closed his eyes and made himself breathe, saving those images for another time. Right now they really did need to clean up and possibly eat something. Getting properly dressed was optional.

'Yes, we probably should. Get cleaned up I mean,' John agreed. 'But you may need to clean me as I think you've fucked me rather boneless. I can barely stand as it is.'

Sherlock eyed John with concern. He looked as though he was going to collapse. 'I'm sorry. I was far rougher than I intended.'

'Don't be sorry Sherlock. I loved every second of it,' John reassured him. 'Sometimes it's OK to be a little rough.'

Sherlock laughed at the hilarity of it all. Only a few hours ago he'd been a naïve virgin, but now John was having to reassure him a rough fuck was OK.

John smiled up at his lover, understanding the humor in the situation. He placed his hands on Sherlock's chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath the damp skin. He placed a small kiss to the underside of his jaw and said, 'Now clean me up, take good care of me, and there will be a reward for you if you do a good job.'

'I hope that entails a long hard fuck of my own in the future.' Sherlock began to place kisses down John's body, stopping with a tender kiss to his cock. Then, grabbing some shower gel he began to lather his hands up. The detective began to rub suds all along John's body. He made sure to pay special attention to his legs and abdomen, and bottom, massaging the almost likely painfully sore muscles. All the while his eyes bored into John's gleefully.

John moaned and leaned his head back against the wall. 'Oh Sherlock, you have no idea what I have in store for you,' he grinned. He closed his eyes and hummed as Sherlock rubbed his muscles back to life, hissing slightly when he moved to his reddened bum. He looked down at his lover then, his cock twitching at the sight of Sherlock on his knees in front of him, and their eyes connected. 'You have no idea just how beautiful you look right now,' John breathed.

'Surely not as beautiful as you,' Sherlock replied, making sure to massage every inch of tense muscle. John sighed and carded his fingers through Sherlock's damp hair. Sherlock's hands felt wonderful on his tense muscles, he could feel himself turning to putty in his hands. He slowly sank down under the spray, the water cascading down around the two men, and he kissed Sherlock soundly.

'You take such good care of me,' John said against Sherlock's lips. 'Making sure I'm fed even if you nearly starve to death on a case. Cleaning my wounds when I get injured on cases. And you don't know it, but you saved my life.' John paused, gathering his wits about him. He didn't like to visit that part of himself, who he was before he met Sherlock and his entire life was changed. He had been in a dark place but Sherlock, unknowingly, had pulled him out into the light. He looked into Sherlock's eyes before he spoke again, wanting him to see how grateful he was and how it still affected him to that day. 'That day we met in Bart's. You saved me, you saved me from myself. And that is what makes you beautiful, Sherlock. Not just your alabaster skin or your perfect curls or your color-changing eyes. You care for me above everyone else, even yourself, and that is why I love you.'

Sherlock leaned forwards and nuzzled at John's neck. 'And you saved me from myself.' He wrapped his arms tightly around John. 'You know I'd almost forgotten how to feel. My father always said feeling was the downfall of the man.' Sherlock kissed John's Adam's apple. 'But then I met you and my heart began to melt. I thought that it was a bad thing. That you were going to be my downfall. Oh how wrong I was.'

Sherlock wrapped his long legs round John's waist. 'You're the bravest, kindest, and most loving human being I've ever met. And you're gorgeous. I don't care what you think. If I'm perfect it's only because you've completed me.' Sherlock rested his head against John's. 'I love you more than I can put into words.'

'We saved each other,' John mused. 'You were on your way to becoming your father, and I was on my way to a far darker place. But then Mike introduced us and if he hadn't, I don't want to think about it.' John clung to Sherlock, his face buried in his shoulder.

'You came into my life and you were so forward about everything. My tour in Afghanistan, my psychosomatic limp, Harry's drinking problems. And you were right and I was charmed and slightly offended. Now that I think about it, I was yours even then. I hadn't even seen 221B yet, but you already had me. And yes, I did try to initiate something at Angelo's, and I respected your decision to just be friends, but I must admit that I felt a little rejected. And after I shot that cabbie for you I could see it in your eyes. You'd underestimated me. I was shocked that I could surprise you, and the fact that I can still surprise you means so much more to me than you would believe.' John nuzzled against Sherlock's jaw, inhaling his scent mixed with the water. 'You've changed so much since we first met, and it's been for the better. I never would have imagined that I would take you to bed and have somewhat of a relationship with you. I had fantasized about it, but I never thought it would be real.'

John looked into Sherlock's eyes, both men's shining with unshed tears. 'I love you so much Sherlock. And if I have taught you one thing I hope it is that you know that you are loved by me and you've made my life a happy one. And there's no tragedy in that.'

Sherlock's eyes lit up. 'And you've brought so much joy to my life.' He kissed John on the corner of his mouth gently. 'I never dreamt of anyone truly wanting me in such a way or of even coming close to what we've just shared together.

'I hope you know just how special you are.' He tugged John closer to him.

John held Sherlock to him, Sherlock's chin resting on John's head. He clung to him, his face buried in Sherlock's shoulder, and tried to keep the tears at bay. Inhaling deeply, he leaned up and stared Sherlock in the eyes. He pulled his head down and kissed him, his face held in his hands. When they broke apart both were breathless, and John rested his forehead against Sherlock's.

'Let me take care of you now,' he whispered. 'Clean you up, show you what you mean to me.'

'Please. Go ahead.' Sherlock's whole body quivered in anticipation. 'Show me.'

John took Sherlock's hands and stood up. He maneuvered Sherlock so he was under the spray of water, grabbed Sherlock's shampoo, and lathered his hands up. He started with Sherlock's hair, knowing how methodical he was when he washed it, and massaged his scalp slowly, working the shampoo into his hair. When he finished he leaned Sherlock's head under the spray of water and rinsed his hair free of the product, running his fingers through the now silky strands. He lost himself in the softness for a while before he moved on to washing Sherlock's body. Instead of lathering his hands with the gel he had it run down Sherlock's body in reminiscence of the massage he'd given him earlier. He ran his hands up and down Sherlock's chest to get the soap into a lather, then began washing the rest of Sherlock's body like it was a holy temple. He started with his shoulders, made his way down his arms, even got in between Sherlock's fingers. He worked his way down Sherlock's chest, paying special attention to his stomach where a combination of their dried cum had settled. He settled down onto his knees and worked on Sherlock's legs, nuzzling his nose against his cock the way a cat would nuzzle against its owner's hand. When he finished with Sherlock's front, he gazed up at his lover, still on his knees, and whispered, 'Now turn around so I can get your back.'

Sherlock was purring like a domestic cat. John had thoroughly washed his hair and he could practically still feel his fingers working their magic. He happily complied, turning around, and wiggling his arse teasingly.

'Come and get me back.'

'Mmm, that's right. You're expecting your reward, aren't you?' John asked, his voice dripping with lust. He massaged Sherlock's legs just below his cheeks, teasing him into a pliant mess. 'While I _did_ say I would reward you, I didn't specifically say _when_, now did I?' John smirked, nipping Sherlock's left cheek teasingly.

Sherlock moaned, slipping further down the shower wall. There were no words he could think of to make a useful retort so instead he settled for pressing himself back against John. John laughed and moved away from Sherlock, teasing him the way Sherlock had done only moments ago.

'All you're going to end up doing is sexually frustrating yourself,' John grinned. 'It'll do you no good to get yourself hard now when I don't plan to give you that _long, hard fuck_ you earned until later tonight.' He punctuated his words with a sharp bite to each of Sherlock's buttocks and one on his lower back just above his crack. John's hands skirted across Sherlock's back, being mindful of the scars he already knew were painful, but he wanted to be sure the massage oil was gone and wouldn't be upsetting Sherlock's scars. Sherlock's hand flew to his own cock, running his hand up and down it with vigor, whimpering.

'John,' he warned with dangerous undertones lining his voice.

'No, no Sherlock,' John warned, grabbing his hand to stop his wanking. 'Can't have any of that right now. Give yourself a break. We've both had five orgasms in under twelve hours. Give yourself time to recuperate, and then later I'll have you cumming long and hard after a well deserved fuck where I plan on pounding you into the mattress.'

Sherlock huffed. 'You're such a tease,' he muttered. It was quite alright for John. His lover had had plenty of time and experience to work on controlling his impulses. For Sherlock this was frighteningly new to him and he just didn't know what to do with his raging desire. It didn't help that John was teasing him as he had done to John. However John wasn't going to do anything to cure the results of said teasing.

'Please remove yourself from me, John.' It wasn't a request, it wasn't begging, it was an order, despite how much it sounded like a fatigue filled sigh.

Suddenly two things happened. One, there was a loud banging. And two, a familiar voice called out:

'Open up Sherlock, it's Lestrade.'

* * *

Cliffhanger! Sort of :p

Bonus Lestrade brought to you by InvisibleBlade. Go send her some love!

Comments and reviews are always appreciated! We'll see you next week.

TSA & IB


	4. Play Before Work

Me: John and Lestrade

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock

_Warnings for this chapter: Greg being a dick, Sherlock's inner turmoil, men going at it, rough sex (and I mean **rough**), John actually cooks breakfast, and Sherlock being a tease._

Enjoy!

* * *

Chapter 4 – Play Before Work

Sherlock whimpered and froze to the spot, afraid to even breathe. John's head whipped toward the door, the blood draining from his face. Lestrade was in their flat, both John and Sherlock were buck naked in the shower, and Sherlock was incredibly aroused. _Shit. Shit, shit, __**shit,**_ John swore to himself. He let go of Sherlock and stood up, peeling the shower curtain away to look at the door.

'Boys, I know you're here! I can hear the shower running! Now where-' Lestrade's voice cut off as he seemed to come to a realization. If John's face could get any paler it did in that moment. Lestrade _knew._ John looked to Sherlock, hoping to see something on his lover's face that would reassure him that Lestrade didn't just figure out where they were and what they had been up to.

Sherlock felt like throwing up. He looked stony faced towards John. John was as pale and terrified in looks as Sherlock was feeling. Seeing John's face he shook his head and mouthed 'drug bust' and 'say something.'

'What do you want me to say, Sherlock?' John whispered forcefully. '"Sorry Greg, you'll have to come back with your pretend drugs bust later because Sherlock and I have been shagging each other senseless and we'd rather not see anyone right now"?' Sherlock's jaw locked and he glared at John. That would be a low blow. John surely wouldn't go there. He pleaded with his eyes for him not to. His mind was a screaming battlefield and eventually Sherlock couldn't take it any longer. He turned away from John and pressed his flushed cheeks to the cooling tiles, resigning himself to taking safety in his skull despite the war going on.

John saw the fear in Sherlock's eyes and regretted saying everything. Sherlock had already turned away from him so he spoke to his back, not wanting to touch him in case he lashed out.

'Sherlock, I'm sorry. I didn't mean that,' John explained. 'I wasn't being serious. I was being sarcastic. I didn't mean what I said, and I would never actually reveal our relationship in such a dispassionate, impersonal, and impractical way. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.' He paused to look at the bathroom door again. He could see Lestrade's shadow pacing in front of the door. Good god, he was waiting for them. John gulped and turned back to Sherlock's rigid figure.

'I'll go talk to Greg, Sherlock. And I won't tell him what happened between us. That's something for both of us to decide to tell everyone when we're both ready. I… I'm sorry, and I love you.' Sherlock heard John speak but the meaning of those words were snuffed out like a candle flame. This was his mind's way of coping and as bad as he felt about it he was too far into his mind to even mutter a reply. John swallowed and left Sherlock to his thoughts. He grabbed his towel and quickly dried himself off, wrapping it around his waist before opening the door to be greeted by a glowing Lestrade.

_Oh god, it's worse than I thought,_ John grimaced.

'John!' Lestrade cried, slapping John on his good shoulder. 'I um… I came over because I had a case for Sherlock, but I didn't realize you two were… preoccupied.' Greg smirked and John's face remained perfectly stony.

'Yes, thank you Greg, but we're going to have to respectfully decline your request,' John ground out.

Meanwhile Sherlock was slipping into a downhill spiral. He was falling further and faster into the cavern of his own mind. He felt numb and was only barely aware of the pounding of water on his skin and loud, almost angry voices from outside the bathroom.

'What do you mean you have to decline?' Greg demanded. 'You two always take on my cases!'

'Today we don't!' John retorted. 'Today we are taking the day off because… because…'

'I know why you're taking the day off,' Greg smirked. John's mouth fell open in shock, his fists curled in anger, and he was _thisclose_ to socking Greg on the jaw. If he wasn't a god damn officer he would have. Instead he stood up in his soldier stance and growled, 'I want you to leave. I want you to leave right now and the next time you have a case I want you to call us first. No more barging in unannounced. Now go!'

Sherlock gripped at his hair, tugging his head down onto his hunched knees. He wanted to shout at the raised voices, to tell them to just shut the hell up. His mouth on the other hand refused to open. He wanted to hit the tiles until his hands were bloody and raw but they stayed firmly clenched in fists. He wanted to cry but the tears didn't fall.

Greg clenched his jaw shut, swallowing down any retort he may have had. He turned and stalked from the flat without a word, slamming the door shut behind him. John sighed in relief but his body remained tense. He could have handled that better, especially with Sherlock.

_Shit. Sherlock!_ John's brain screamed at him. He dashed back into the bathroom to find Sherlock curled up into himself, his hands clenching his hair tightly. John turned off the water and kneeled down beside him, still afraid to touch Sherlock as he was so emotionally unstable.

'Sherlock? Sherlock, love, are you alright?' John whispered softly. 'It's alright now. Greg is gone. I told him to leave. Now, please, come back to me.'

Sherlock was vaguely aware that the shouting had disappeared, and that there was a far pleasanter voice beckoning him to come back to reality. Sherlock found the frightening truth that no matter how he tried he simply couldn't force his mind to return. He began to panic but none of that rose to his surface. On the surface he was blank.

'Sherlock?' John was extremely concerned. Sherlock's face was completely blank, he was trapped inside his own head again. 'Sherlock, you're scaring me,' John pleaded. 'Sherlock?' Now John was scared. He didn't want to lose Sherlock to his emotionless head again. Not after what they'd just been through. So he did the only thing he could think of. He pulled Sherlock's head to him and kissed him thoroughly. For a horrible moment in time Sherlock thought he was under attack but his senses soon told him this was far from the truth. He was being kissed. It wasn't a terribly nice kiss. Whoever was kissing him was making it harsh and urgency filled. He blinked when he realized it was John and pulled back, finally able to move.

'I thought you were going out to see Lestrade?' Sherlock muttered. John nearly cried in relief. Sherlock was talking. He was _talking._ He'd come back, and he was a little disoriented, but he was back.

'I already did that,' he smiled at his lover. 'I kicked him out because he was rude and disrespectful.' John caressed Sherlock's face, forgetting about Greg. He was just happy Sherlock was back.

Sherlock smiled weakly. 'I would have killed to see his face.' He then looked into John's eyes and took a deep breath. 'I know what you said earlier… about you wanting to fuck me later but…' he nuzzled at John, 'I don't want to wait.'

'Oh god me neither,' John agreed. He pulled Sherlock's back to his and kissed him passionately, a different sense of urgency in it than the previous.

'Not here,' Sherlock tusked, pulling back from the kiss. 'If I remember correctly your promise involved a mattress.'

'Mmm, yes it did,' John hummed. He stood up, his towel dropping at his feet, and he pulled Sherlock out of the shower. He dried his hair quickly with the discarded towel, then dragged Sherlock down the hallway to his-their-room where he deposited Sherlock on the mattress and climbed on top of him, kissing him passionately again. Sherlock wrapped his lanky legs around John and hummed into the kiss. This was all a little gently for his liking however and so he bit John's lip, drawing blood.

John moaned at Sherlock's aggressive bite and pulled away, his lip sliding from Sherlock's teeth with some difficulty as Sherlock had such a strong hold on it. John licked his lips, tasted blood, and looked down at Sherlock, his eyes dark with desire.

'So it's going to be like that, is it?' he smiled darkly. He didn't give Sherlock time to answer as he grabbed hold of Sherlock's hair and pulled his head to the side, exposing his neck and pulse, and licked from his shoulder up to his ear and back again. He ground himself down on Sherlock's cock, already hard with anticipation, and bit down on Sherlock's pulse point hard enough to leave a rather deep love bite. Sherlock's eyes clouded over. It hurt. His neck felt like it was slowly been torn apart by John's skillful teeth.

His mind was pounding with an intense desire, but John may have been correct about how they should have made time to recuperate. The detective's body felt totally washed out, with every muscle in his body turning to mush, and every bone feeling as though they were old and rusty.

'I can sense your reluctance, Sherlock,' John said against Sherlock's neck. He licked at the bite he'd given him, soothing it with his cool tongue. 'Well, not reluctance so much as you've realized how worn out you are and that maybe we should take a break before I fuck you into the mattress.' He moved so he was laying on Sherlock, chest to chest, his arms crossed under him, and he looked into Sherlock's face for confirmation. 'I can wait to give you your reward for a little while. I can make you some breakfast if you want. Are you hungry?'

'Yes,' Sherlock said with a wicked grin. 'I'm hungry. For food, no. However." Sherlock wriggled his hips underneath John and lunged towards, sinking his teeth into John's shoulder. John yelped in surprise when Sherlock bit into his shoulder but it quickly turned into an 'Oh _god_, yes.' He ground himself down on Sherlock, their cocks rubbing against one another. John placed his hands on Sherlock's shoulders and pushed him off, his teeth scraping against John's skin.

'This is supposed to be _your_ rough fuck, Sherlock,' John said, his voice thick with want. 'So, let me fuck you roughly.'

'Oh please, go ahead.' Sherlock spread his legs, waiting impatiently for things to begin. John grinned devilishly. He leaned in to whisper in Sherlock's ear, 'Don't be afraid to be vocal, Sherlock. Let me hear you,' before capturing his earlobe between his teeth and gnawing on it. He then moved down Sherlock's torso and slathered his tongue over one of his nipples, biting hard around it so his tongue could continue its work. Sherlock began to pant in excitement, thrilled about John exploring his body with the curiosity of a kitten.

'Oh, hell yes,' Sherlock growled. John growled around the bite he'd left and sat up to grind himself down on Sherlock's cock, lunging down to sharply bite Sherlock's other nipple, rather loving Sherlock's reaction.

'Jjjjjjohn.' His voice deepened, vibrating with a strong urgency. He was already so close again.

'That's it Sherlock. Say my name,' John said, his words dripping with want and need. He moved down Sherlock's body, snatched the lube from the table, and kissed his way across Sherlock's body until he was positioned between Sherlock's knees. He looked up at his lover, pupils blown, mouth agape, and smiled. He placed a gentle kiss to the inside of Sherlock's thigh as he scrambled to open the lube. He nipped at the underside of Sherlock's knee as he coated his fingers with the gel. He looked up at Sherlock again as he finally slid his slick fingers into Sherlock's quivering entrance. Sherlock's eyes practically rolled into the back of his skull. He let out a loud bark and pushed downwards, forcing John's fingers to slide further.

'Oh my god, John,' he grunted ecstatically.

'So eager,' John chuckled. 'You're still so open from the last time I had my thick cock up your arse. You're desperate to have it again, aren't you? To have me fill you up, stretch you, _claim_ you.' John eased in a fourth finger so that Sherlock was practically fucking his hand, using his thumb to draw circles around Sherlock's balls. 'You're so beautiful, Sherlock. Open and vulnerable. And you're all _mine_,' he punctuated with a sharp bite to Sherlock's thigh.

'Yes, John. All yours.' Sherlock rocked back and forth. 'Can I have you now?' he moaned. 'Please.'

'Ooo, yes,' John purred. He removed his fingers and slicked up his cock, positioning himself at Sherlock's entrance. He snaked his hands up Sherlock's legs until he reached his knees, gripped them hard, and said, 'Let's see how flexible you are.' He then shoved Sherlock's knees up to his shoulders while shoving his cock in his arse with surprising force, his thrusts unrelenting and unforgiving. Sherlock wanted a rough fuck? He was damn well going to get one.

Sherlock's eyes quite literally rolled into the back of his skull as wave after wave of pure pleasure rolled through him with such force that his mind actually felt as though it was combusting. His breathing became so ragged it almost hurt and his body shook so vigorously that it looked as though he had been possessed.

John watched Sherlock intently, observing his reactions. When John fucked him sharp and fast Sherlock's body seemed to shake so hard he looked like he was having a seizure. But when he fucked him deep and hard his entire body nearly arched off the bed and he made the most delicious sounds. So John attempted to try a combination of the two, fucking him fast, hard, and deep. He gripped Sherlock's legs tightly, his pace becoming austere and merciless. He could hear the headboard smacking against the wall with each thrust, every now and again hearing the bed scrape across the floor only to slam against the wall with such force that the paint chipped and showered down around them.

'So is this what you wanted, Sherlock?' John grit out between thrusts, his breath so ragged his lungs burned with the exertion. 'Is this rough enough for you?'

Sherlock's mouth opened but no words came out. Instead a range of barks, moaning, and groaning rolled from his tongue. He was so close right now he couldn't think of what to say. This was far rougher than he'd imagined by far. The bed shook beneath him and it felt as though John was literally slamming himself against him. John grinned devilishly. He pushed down on Sherlock's legs until his knees were resting on the mattress, leaning over him as his thrusts became erratic. God he was so close. And Sherlock was so close his entire body was shaking. Wanting to get them the release they both so desperately needed, John let go of one of Sherlock's legs and grasped his cock, pumping it in time with his thrusts. Leaning closer to his rather debauched lover he growled out, 'Now _scream_ for me, Sherlock,' as he thrust into him hard and deep and twisted his hand around his cock in the way he'd found Sherlock particularly enjoyed.

The intensity of the thrust and John's hand wrapping around his own throbbing member turned out to be the detective's tipping point. Heeding John's words he screamed his lover's name. The scream was a terrifying noise and if the said noise hadn't been coming from his mouth he would have mistaken it for the sound of someone being murdered. John screamed right along with Sherlock, thrusting into him a few more times before he found his own release, spilling himself inside Sherlock. With one final shout of Sherlock's name John collapsed on top of him with a harsh slap.

Sherlock lay there, limp as a new born lamb. A whimper escaped his trembling lips and he screwed his eyes shut, praying that his body would make a quick recovery though he highly doubted that would be the case. John lay on Sherlock's heaving chest, panting. His entire body ached, his lungs burned, but he had never felt more satisfied. He started giggling against Sherlock's chest, nuzzling his nose against his chin.

'That was... Amazing,' he gasped out. 'Jesus. Wow.' He heaved one more giant sigh before he managed to gather enough strength to raise himself up to gauge how Sherlock was doing. 'How're you feeling, Sherlock?'

Sherlock exhaled. 'Exhausted and in agony - but I suppose that's to be expected. Most of all though I feel ... Fantastically loved.' John grinned and pressed a tender kiss to Sherlock's lips.

'Sorry about all the agony. I've never explored that part of myself before. I... I was a lot rougher than I... Than I normally am during this sort of thing.' John swallowed. He hadn't wanted to bring up that he'd done this with only women before, and he thought Sherlock might be able to take some rougher play. 'Maybe... Maybe next time we should have a safe word handy? Just in case things get a little too intense or painful.'

'It's fine,' he panted in exhaustion. 'I think I can handle it. I'm just not used to being fucked, let alone so roughly.' His lips quirked upwards. 'Though I've always had this fantasy that you'd ride me so hard I can't walk for about a week. I believe that fantasy is now complete.'

'Mmm,' John smiled. 'Glad I could be of service.' He rolled off of Sherlock and lay beside him, still panting slightly but not nearly as hard as before. He closed his eyes and breathed, relaxing. He could feel paint chips under his back and grimaced. He really had done a number to the wall, not to mention Sherlock's arse. He was going to have to learn to control himself. But Sherlock mentioning his fantasy had John thinking of his own. He hummed and smiled, the image playing in his mind like a mini movie. 'You know, I've got a fantasy of my own, Sherlock. And I would love if we could try to fulfill it someday.'

'Oh, do tell,' Sherlock purred, wriggling his eyebrows seductively. John laughed at the sight and rolled over to face Sherlock.

'In my fantasy, you're bent over a microscope in the kitchen. I'm reading the paper or typing up the latest case when you accidentally blow something up. Maybe I've had a stressful day at the surgery or you've just been especially aggravating that day, but I snap and start ordering you about to clean up your mess, in full-on Captain Watson mode. You've heard me shout orders before, but none towards you, and you stiffen. You turn towards me and your eyes are dark, and you tell me to order you to do something again. So I do. I order you to drop to your knees and you nearly collapse as I walk over to you, your eyes watching my every move.' John paused to suck in a breath, closing his eyes as the fantasy took over him. Sherlock sucking him off without using his hands, only allowed to use that skillful mouth and tongue of his, John carding his fingers through Sherlock's hair, not really pushing him but just to feel Sherlock's hair traveling through his fingers.

'You suck me off, only allowed to use your mouth, and _god_ Sherlock you're fucking brilliant at it. But I don't want to come down your throat, I want to fuck you into oblivion, so I stand you up and rip your clothes off your body. Mine are gone soon too and I turn you to face the table, bending you over it and spreading your legs, gazing upon your magnificent arse.' John bit back a groan at the image, knowing what it looked like now only added to the fantasy. His body moved closer to Sherlock unconsciously, wanting to be nearer to the man who had supplied so many beautiful fantasies over the past few months. 'I open you slowly, my fingers reaching deep inside you, teasing you into submission. And you're making such delicious noises and I can't wait to be seated fully in you. So I don't waste any time and I shove my prick in you roughly, loving how you cry out in pain and ecstasy. And I fuck you on that table, holding you down as I pound into you, ignoring your cock until I decide you get to cum. And when you do you bring me with you and it's fucking glorious.'

John opened his eyes and stared into Sherlock's, breathing deeply and listening to the hammering of his heart in his ears. 'That is what I want to do to you, Sherlock. And there is so much more, but that right there is what I want to do to you right now. Take you into the kitchen and fuck you over the table, disrupting all your experiments but not being arsed to care.'

Sherlock's eyes twinkled as the image John had just placed in his mind danced in his every thought. 'I find your captain mode extremely sexy.' He snuggled up against the army doctor, taking a huge whiff of his beautifully oaky scent. 'However, perhaps it would be best to give my arse a break. You've really done quite a number to it.'

Sherlock exhaled. 'Perhaps it would be best to wait anyway. That way it will be more spontaneous and that anger will be real. I'm quite looking forwards to having angry sex.' John nodded in agreement. He really had done a number to Sherlock's arse, and Sherlock had spanked the living daylights out of his earlier. Maybe a break was in their best interests. And the idea of angry sex intrigued him as well, and he grinned maliciously at the prospect.

'It's probably mid-afternoon by now Sherlock. We should probably get up and eat something, regain our strength. Plus we still have dinner to go out to as well.' He kissed Sherlock chastely, not wanting to stir either of their cocks. 'Now get dressed and I'll make you something special.'

Sherlock groaned at the prospect of getting up. 'Not going to happen. Anything below my groin has been rendered useless.'

John smirked but let it slide. 'Then I'll bring the food to you. Or,' he paused, the idea making him grin playfully. 'Or, I could carry you out to the sofa after pulling some clothes on you. And then you can watch me cook for you.'

Sherlock licked his lips. 'Sounds delicious ... and I don't mean just the prospect of food.'

John grinned and rolled off the bed. He rifled through Sherlock's clothes, pulling out a pair of pajama bottoms and a t-shirt. He grabbed some of Sherlock's clothes for himself and pulled on the too-long bottoms and pulled on the shirt that actually fit quite nicely. He then stalked over to Sherlock, clothes in hand, and grabbed him by the ankle. He pulled him closer so his legs dangled off the edge of the bed and stuck each leg into the bottom's pant legs, yanking them up so they sat over Sherlock's hips. The t-shirt went on a little easier as Sherlock was at least able to move his arms. Once that was one he took Sherlock's face in his hands and kissed him, nipping his lower lip as he pulled away. He looped one arm under Sherlock's legs, the other around his shoulders, and lifted him up bridal style, adjusting his hold once Sherlock was securely in his arms.

'Shall I make you breakfast now?'

Sherlock was ecstatic as he lay spread out in John's arms. 'Oh most definitely.' He nuzzled his chest. 'I wuv you,' he laughed. 'I really do.'

'I wuv you too,' John smiled, nuzzling Sherlock's nose with his own. He carried him out the door and into the living room, placing him gently onto the couch so he could see the kitchen. 'Now is there anything specific you want to eat? Other than me, of course,' he smirked.

Sherlock winced ever so slightly as his arse came in contact with the sofa. He considered John's question for a moment.

'Pancakes,' he grinned.

'Pancakes it is,' John grinned. He kissed Sherlock's forehead and walked to the kitchen. He grabbed all the necessary ingredients and set a pan on the oven to heat. As he beat the ingredients together he began to hum to himself. He was just making the notes up as he went, and he rather liked what he was humming. He stole a glance at Sherlock and smiled.

'Beautiful,' Sherlock smiled back. 'And the humming is of equal beauty.'

John blushed at Sherlock's words and continued his song. He flipped the first pancake with a flourish that would have made Delia Smith proud. As it cooked he rummaged around in the fridge for something to have with the pancakes and was surprised to find fresh fruit. Mrs Hudson must have been shopping and bought them some groceries. Bless her heart. She might not have been their housekeeper but she certainly took care of them like one.

As the last of the pancakes cooked John turned on the electric kettle to make them some tea. He grabbed a tray and began setting plates and utensils on it, grabbed the jars of honey and sugar from the cupboard, and their matching mugs from the sink. He put two bags of Earl Grey in one mug and poured the hot water over it, letting them steep for a few minutes before he transferred them to the other mug, letting them steep for a considerably less amount of time. He knew Sherlock liked his tea just a touch weaker than he liked his coffee, and he also took a spoonful of milk and a teaspoon of honey. He set the mugs on the tray and flipped the last pancake, cooking it until it was a delicious golden brown. He gave them each four pancakes, set the fruit in a bowl in the center, and turned off the oven before he left for the living room. He brought the tray out to the living room and set it down on the table by the sofa.

'Sit up,' he told Sherlock as he sat on the arm of the sofa by Sherlock's head. Sherlock hissed as he struggled to lift himself up into a sitting position. He wrinkled up his nose. 'Blimey,' he muttered in discomfort. John wriggled between Sherlock and the arm of the sofa, letting Sherlock rest against him to keep himself upright. He handed Sherlock a plate of pancakes and grabbed the other for himself.

'I got honey and sugar in case you wanted them on your pancakes,' he said, spooning honey on each of his pancakes. 'And I made your tea just the way you like it too.'

'Thanks dear,' he said in a surprisingly domestic voice, kissing John on the lips for a brief second before pouring honey all over his pancakes and slowly sipping at his tea.

John smiled against the kiss before it ended and watched as Sherlock drowned his pancakes in honey. John sawed off a section of his own with his fork, popping it into his mouth and humming at how delicious it tasted. His thoughts drifted to last night, how frantic and hurried the events had been, and here they were eating breakfast on the sofa like a perfectly normal couple. They had been fucking each other like animals and suddenly it had calmed down and they were having breakfast, calling each other terms of endearments like 'love' and 'darling'. The domesticity was shocking but not unwelcome, and it would probably be like that all the time. Periods of fast and hurried fucking followed by the calm after the storm, so to speak. And that was probably as close to normal as it would get at 221B, and John was perfectly fine with that.

John's free hand found its way to Sherlock's curls and began stroking them languidly. They were still damp from the shower they had taken earlier (and he used that term loosely as they had dirtied themselves up again so soon afterwards it was pretty much moot) but had dried enough that they had a bounce to them. John smiled as he ate another bite of his pancakes, stabbing a strawberry on his fork and popping that into his mouth as well, enjoying the combined tastes.

'So, what shall we do between now and dinner?'

Sherlock thought about it, humming happily as he chewed on the pancakes, enjoying how the honey swirled across his tongue and soothed his throat. Something that was much needed after some of the events that had occurred.

Licking his lips he said, 'Well we should probably see what case Lestrade had for us.' He wrinkled up his nose. 'But there's one conversation I don't want to have.'

John groaned at the memory. He really didn't want to have to face Lestrade after that, but he knew Sherlock needed a case. Why else would he have been experimenting with homemade drugs? He sighed and laid his head against the back of the sofa, staring at the ceiling.

'Okay. Okay, we can go see Lestrade. But we aren't going to be the ones to bring it up. If he does, we can just say we don't have a comment on the matter and we just want to focus on the case. If he doesn't, well then we can breathe a sigh of relief and move on by ignoring the issue completely.'

'Or we could avoid him. If it were that important he would have left a text message. As it happens he hasn't,' Sherlock grinned. 'I can think of a few activities I'd much rather do. Like snogging you long and hard whilst rutting against you until you're begging to cum and the need for a release is painful. A release you'll get only after we've had dinner.'

John's hand paused, his fork poised in the air in front of his open mouth. His eyes were blown wide open and he was staring straight ahead at nothing, Sherlock's words dancing around in his head. He managed to lower his fork but his mouth remained open until Sherlock gently shut it, his fingers pressing lightly to the underside of John's jaw until it closed. John swallowed thickly, could feel the heat in his cheeks, could feel the blood pumping in his ears. He turned to look down at Sherlock who had a wicked grin on his face.

'I actually like that idea better,' he said, his voice deep with want. 'I really, really do.'

Sherlock chuckled darkly. 'Oh, I thought you would. Though what would sexually frustrate you more ... Actually doing that or going out on a case now that that image is in your mind?' His lips quivered into a smirk. 'Imagine it. I'd be deducing, I'd look at you with eyes so full of lust, and then maybe I'll gently touch your shoulder. Your cock certainly wouldn't stand a chance.'

John moaned and threw his head back on the sofa, his arousal blatantly obvious through the loose material of Sherlock's pajama bottoms.

'God yes,' he panted. 'Yes, Sherlock, please.'

Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes, blatantly ignoring John's erection. 'Of course. I could do that.' He chewed on the remainder of his pancakes. 'But I'm not going to.'

John whimpered and flexed his hips, hoping to get some sort of friction from the material of his pants. Sherlock was just going to toy with him like John had done to him earlier in the shower. He didn't like being teased in such a way but somewhere deep in his mind he actually really did. Being denied release for so long gave him the most extraordinary orgasms and he moaned at the prospect of having one. He continued to move his hips, hoping to entice Sherlock into playing. Sherlock shook his head, placing his empty plate aside and swigging the rest of the tea John had made him down his throat.

'I presume this is some new dance move I don't know about,' he commented, expression amused, voice teasing and steadfast steady.

'Yes. It's called the "You Better Do Something About This Right Now Before I Attack You And Wreck Your Arse Further,"' John smirked, his hips never faltering in their movements.

'Oh, I see. I suppose that was a threat. Believe me John I do not take kindly to threats.' Sherlock sent him an 'I'm not going to do anything about it but me what are you going to do?' look.

John glared back at Sherlock with a 'challenge accepted' look on his face. As calmly as he could manage he set his plate down on the table, wincing slightly as his hard cock brushed against his stomach. Then he stood up abruptly so that Sherlock fell against the sofa with a thud and climbed on top of him before he could register what had happened. He straddled his waist and moved his hips against Sherlock's. Sherlock was able to hide the rampant lusting side of himself in his mind palace. This stopped him from moaning out loud when John began moving against him. He grabbed John's wrists.

'No,' he bit out, rolling them over so he was now in control. He lifted his body upwards, ghosting his fingers over John's arousal. 'You have gotten yourself into a lot more trouble than you would have been in now.' Sherlock grit his teeth together. 'I said that I don't take kindly to threats.'

'Then what are you going to do about it?' John challenged, rutting his hips up so Sherlock's hand involuntarily palmed his erection, moaning at the contact.

'Everything but what you want me to do,' Sherlock stated, removing his hand, and lifting his body higher so only his thighs had contact with John. He then began to kiss him heatedly, nibbling on his lower lip. John tried to put all his newfound sexual frustration into the kiss, tangled his fingers in Sherlock's hair and pulled him closer, his tongue plunging into Sherlock's mouth, biting down on Sherlock's tongue when it tried to do the same. Sherlock bit John's tongue back and growled menacingly. For that he decided to be extra cruel. His hand moved to John's arse and groped it. He squeezed and pinched and prodded with all his might.

John gasped and his eyes flew open, his hips lifting to try to get his arse away from Sherlock's cruel hands. His arse was still tender from the spanking he had received and he had been shocked he was able to sit down at all earlier. But when Sherlock's hands began stimulating the reddened flesh it hurt like a bitch. He cried out and arched his back off the sofa, his hands clutching Sherlock's hair so hard it must have been hurting him. But John couldn't be arsed to care. All he cared about was that he was in pain and he wanted it to stop.

'Say the magic word John and I'll stop,' Sherlock panted. He grabbed John's hands and tugged them from his hair before using his own hands to grope John's arse once more.

'Oh fuck!' John gasped. He knew that wasn't what Sherlock wanted to hear but it was all he could say at the moment.

'Nope.' Sherlock shook his head. '"Fuck" isn't the magic word nor is it what you're going to get.'

John grit his teeth and tried to muster the words that would end the torture. But he almost didn't want it to stop. Maybe he had a trace of masochism in him. But when Sherlock pinched him rather harshly he knew he didn't. It hurt too goddamn much for him to actually get any sort of pleasure from it.

'Sherlock, please,' he panted. 'Please stop. It hurts. It hurts so bad, please. Please stop.'

Sherlock's eyes twinkled as he moved his hand, skimming it up and down John's thigh. 'So tell me John. Ready to beg?'

John took deep breaths through his nose, calming himself as Sherlock's hand traveled up and down his thigh. Such a fucking tease, John thought. He opened his eyes and stared into Sherlock's, hoping he would see the reserve on his face and not the lust in his eyes.

'No,' he smirked. 'Make me.'

'It shan't be too difficult,' Sherlock stated, still rubbing John's thigh. He began placing kisses along John's body, slowly moving downwards. He grinned as he reached John's erection. His tongue poked out and gently prodded it, running along it swiftly. John's entire body shuddered at the minute contact. His hands gripped the sofa tightly, trying not to grab Sherlock's hair and force his face back to his crotch.

'I thought... I thought you weren't going to give me what I wanted?' John gulped between gasps.

'Oh ... I'm not,' Sherlock smirked. 'That was for my benefit.' He moved upwards, nipping John's ear lobe.

'You're a fucking tease, you know that?' John growled, his hands groping Sherlock's arse and squeezing tightly.

Sherlock grunted in pain. 'Again not helping your cause,' he hissed, sliding himself off of John and just about managing to stand.

John whimpered and sat up. 'Where are you going?' He reached a hand out towards Sherlock and managed to grasp onto his pajama bottoms.

'To get dressed. I do believe I'm in the mood for a case,' Sherlock replied, starting to stiffly walk towards his bedroom. He turned briefly to look at John. 'Don't wank it off. If you do I'll deduce it and I will be most displeased. If you manage to sustain yourself I'll reward you after dinner.' He smiled sweetly. 'Feel free to come with me but only come if you're wearing your tightest jeans.'

* * *

Another week gone. Where does the time go? We'll be back next week with some fun at the Yard ;) And then some angst thrown in because this has been quite mushy :p

See you next week!

TSA + IB


	5. Games at the Yard

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock

Me: John, Lestrade, Anderson, and Donovan

_Warnings for this chapter: teasing, orgasm denial, Anderson being a dick, and some angst near the end._

* * *

Chapter 5 – Games at the Yard

John glared after his retreating figure, smirking slightly at the knowledge that he had wrecked Sherlock's arse so badly he could barely walk. He sat up and closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing and trying to think of something so utterly repulsive in order to get his erection to wane. It worked and he managed to make it up the stairs to his room without much difficulty. He rummaged through his wardrobe until he found the trousers Sherlock mentioned. They weren't skin tight like the blue jeans the women wore nowadays, but they certainly sat on his hips perfectly and made his arse look fantastic.

_If we're going to play this game then I won't make it easy for him either,_ John smirked. He plucked his red button-down off its hanger, knowing how Sherlock's cheeks had turned almost the same color as the shirt the last time he'd worn it. He pulled on the clothes, purposefully 'forgetting' his pants, and put on his socks and shoes before heading back downstairs. He was perfectly composed but he was not prepared for the beautiful sight that greeted him when he returned to the living room.

Sherlock was wearing his purple shirt, or, as many of the fan girls reading John's blog called it, the purple shirt of sex. The top three buttons were undone, revealing a tuft of chest hair. He wore a slim suit and tight trousers that showed just what was going on underneath the material. His hair was slicked back with gel and he was wearing eyeliner to make his eyes look even wider with lust. John gulped at the sight and couldn't tear his eyes away from the bulge in Sherlock's trousers, his own erection back with full force. _God fucking dammit,_ he swore, bracing his hand against the doorframe to keep himself upright.

'You, um... You look...' John stammered. Absolutely fuckable, like you were carved out of marble, abso-fucking-lutely delicious, and hot as fucking hell all came to mind but John was too dumbstruck with lust to voice them. He just gulped and stared at Sherlock's eyes rimmed with black, caught in his gaze, mesmerized. Sherlock walked over to John, beaming wickedly. He eyed John up.

'You don't look too bad yourself, soldier,' he laughed, kissing John and pressing himself tightly to him, rubbing his erection against John's. John moaned into the kiss, moving his hips against Sherlock's, his hands gripping Sherlock's suit jacket tightly.

'You're a bad man,' he whispered against Sherlock's lips, nipping his bottom lip playfully.

'Oh the worst I agree,' Sherlock growled, increasing the intensity of his movements. John leaned against the wall, spreading his legs so Sherlock would have better access. He began panting and met Sherlock thrust for thrust, ripples of pleasure traveling throughout his body. He was close, and he knew if he came then he wouldn't get his reward after dinner.

'Stop. Sherlock, stop. I'm too close,' he warned through gritted teeth. Sherlock giggled, ramming one last thrust against John before stepping back.

'Right, we should be off,' he said, sliding one hand to caress John's arse.

'You _bastard,_' John spat, a grin on his face despite his tone. 'If I survive this little game of ours then I am going to ride you so hard we both won't be able to walk for a week.'

Sherlock clicked his tongue. 'I believe it's my turn to ride you.' His fingers darted to John's erection, palming it. John clenched his eyes shut and threw his head back, barely managing to bite back a moan.

'No, no, stop, too close, _fuck,_' John gasped. 'What... What I meant by riding you was that you would be fucking me but... But I'd be sitting on top of you. Your cock would still be up my arse, only you'd be on your back and I'd be sitting on your cock basically.'

'Oh,' Sherlock purred. 'I do like the sound of that.' He smiled maniacally. 'I can't wait to drive you home.'

'Jesus Christ,' John groaned, the image of Sherlock fucking him like that made his cock even harder, if that was even possible. 'Go... Go get a cab. I need to calm myself down.' He closed his eyes and tried to picture something disgusting again. The head in the fridge, the taste of the octopus he'd had to eat for a case once, stepping in a puddle of water with socks on, anything to get his mind off his aching groin.

'Right!' Sherlock exclaimed, clapping his hands in glee. 'Good luck with that,' he called over shoulder.

'Fuck you you sexy bastard!' John called after him, grinning like a mad man. He sighed and rested his head against the wall, focusing on at least getting his heart rate down. He breathed deeply, imagining a calming scene in his mind where he could relax. And it worked too, his body relaxed but his prick was still hard as a rock. This was going to be a difficult case, especially if he had to run anywhere. With a frustrated sigh he pushed himself off the wall and walked down the stairs, albeit with some difficulty, and met Sherlock at the kerb.

'Feeling better?' Sherlock asked in mock worry as the cab pulled up. He eyed John up, licking his lips.

'Not much, but I'll manage,' John replied, ignoring looking at Sherlock as he knew what that would do to him. He climbed in the cab and slid across the seat, wincing as both his arse and prick were so sensitive. As soon as the cab door closed the atmosphere changed. He was in the back seat of a cab with his new lover and they were playing a game to see if they could both last until dinner and the air was thick with tension and want. John gulped, refusing to look at Sherlock, and told the cabbie to take them to the Yard, his voice heavy with how much he wanted the man beside him to swallow his cock and bring him to orgasm in a fucking London cab.

'I'm sorry honey,' Sherlock pouted teasingly, placing a hand on John's lap. 'I promise to make it up to you.' John stiffened at the touch, his aching cock seeming to gravitate to Sherlock's hand. He risked a glance at the cabbie and caught his gaze in the rear view mirror. He was glaring at them, but John minutely shook his head, telling him they weren't going to go that route today. The man just shook his head and sighed, turning his attention back to the road.

'Sherlock, you had better fucking _worship_ me tonight,' John growled, his voice low so the cabbie wouldn't overhear. 'And by "worship" I mean you had better fuck me so fucking hard that I can't sit down for _at least_ a week.'

'We'll see,' Sherlock whispered back, groping John's thigh ever so slightly. 'We'll see,' he reiterated.

'You're fucking _infuriating,_' John grit out, trying to stop his hips from thrusting into Sherlock's hand. One of his own latched onto Sherlock's thigh and gripped it tightly, if not to tease him as well but to let him know of the state John himself was in. Oh Sherlock knew what state John was in. It was rather sweet. Fortunately his mind was in case mode so there was little room for his brain to comprehend what John's hand was doing to him.

'Jonathan! Not in public,' he tusked playfully, batting the offending hand away. John blushed crimson and snatched his hand away, putting both hands under his bum to keep from touching Sherlock or himself. He grumbled to himself the rest of the way, muttering how the whole game was idiotic and how Sherlock was being a teasing prick, but then his voice of reason would come in and explain that he had signed up for it and Sherlock was just playing the game. Damn it all to hell.

Sherlock took hold of John's shoulder. 'We're here dear,' he smirked. 'Come on. Time to put on a good show.' Sherlock meant that he was going to be an utter genius whilst John praised him but it was clear that the cabbie didn't see it like that. John grinned as he understood what Sherlock meant, but one glance at the cabbie's shocked expression and he turned as red as his shirt. He opened his mouth to explain but no words came out. He snapped his jaw shut and just tossed a random assortment of bills at the man, not caring if it was too much or not enough. He just needed to get out of there as quickly as possible. He scrambled out the door and slammed it shut before Sherlock could crawl out after him. He didn't want to witness that, just imagining it sent sparks directly to his prick and he clenched his hands into fists at his side, his nails biting into the skin.

Sherlock winced as the full force of the door slamming rippled through him. He glared at the cabbie for a long moment before retreating out of the cab and cautiously walking over to John. The detective smiled to himself. John was a beautiful crimson shade of red, causing his blue eyes to brighten in volume, and the bulge within his jeans was large and prominent, jutting out and almost looking as annoyed as the man it belonged to. The detective reached for the fair haired man's hand, gently linking their fingers together and squeezing.

'I'm sorry. I'll let up a little now we're here,' he said, genuinely feeling a little bad for John. A little bit.

'You don't have to let up, Sherlock,' John sighed, squeezing his hand back. 'I just... I didn't like the way that cabbie was looking at us. Like we were... Like our relationship was...' He struggled to find the right word, squeezing Sherlock's hand tightly. 'But I don't care. I love you and that's all that matters.' He finally looked up at Sherlock, his breath catching at the sight, and pulled him in for a quick kiss. 'Now let's go solve a murder,' he grinned against Sherlock's lips.

Sherlock slid his hand down John's body till it reached his hard on. He smiled and breathed out, 'I love you too.' His eyes darkened, enhanced by the eyeliner. 'Now do lead the way. I adore a good murder.'

John sucked in a breath, bucking his hips into Sherlock's hand, his own dark eyes boring into Sherlock's. If they were really going to do this, then he was going to walk in there with his head held high and his cock hard as a fucking rock. But there was no way he was going to walk into the Yard without setting some ground rules first.

'Some rules first, Sherlock. One, no arse grabbing of any kind. It's too painful for both of us right now. Two, no crotch grabbing, not in front of anyone at least. Keep that private. Three, if anyone asks, don't tell them it's because we're toying with each other until dinner. They'll all know anyway, but I'm not ready to confirm it just yet. I want to at least have had sex with you on every surface of the flat first.' He grinned widely at the prospect and waited for Sherlock's confirmation.

'Understood,' Sherlock replied, voice trembling with the mere image of what John had just suggested floated in his mind.

'No touching. I presume eye sex is still allowed though,' Sherlock said with a lick of his lips.

'Oh most definitely,' John agreed, staring deep into Sherlock's eyes. They were a pale green today, but that might have been the eyeliner affecting the color. 'But you can still touch me on my arm or back or something. Just nothing so intimate. That's just for us and no one else, alright?' He squeezed Sherlock's hand again before planting a small kiss on Sherlock's cheek.

'What, like this?' Sherlock quizzed, letting his hand migrate to the small of John's back.

'Yes. Precisely that,' John smiled, reciprocating the touch himself. Sherlock purred, throwing his head back in approval. He hummed softly and nodded. His hand curled against the material of John's shirt tightly.

'This should be fun.' John was too lost in the moment to truly comprehend Sherlock's words. All he saw was Sherlock's exposed neck and his lips gravitated toward it, planting a kiss beside Sherlock's Adam's apple before his teeth nibbled on it.

'We should really go inside,' he whispered against Sherlock's neck. 'I'll lead the way, shall I?'

Sherlock bit his lip. 'Yes dear,' he croaked, his voice feebly cracking. John's touch made the detective's heart flutter and his cock twinge.

'Mmm. I think this _will_ be fun,' John smirked, nipping the underside of Sherlock's jaw before turning and nearly sashaying toward the Yard's main entrance, glancing over his shoulder and winking at a rather dumbstruck Sherlock. Sherlock groaned. This man would surely be the death of him. He hurried after John and entered the crime scene where they were greeted by a most unhappy Lestrade.

Lestrade glared at the two men as they entered his office, but it quickly faded into a look of utter shock at their appearances. 'Do I even want to know?' he asked.

'No. Definitely not,' John smirked, subtly running a finger down Sherlock's spine. Sherlock felt himself inhale sharply. Oh he was going to get John back and when he did he wasn't going to have any remorse.

'What have we got?' Sherlock rubbed his hands together, trying to steady his ragged breathing. He moved his hand to rest just above John's arse. It was still technically his back and not his arse so it wasn't exactly against the rules that had been laid out. John's breath hitched in his throat and he felt his cheeks heat up at how close Sherlock's hand was to his arse.

'Triple homicide over at Brixton. No murder weapon, the doors were locked from the inside, and so far nothing in common with the victims,' Lestrade rattled off, handing a file of crime scene photos over to Sherlock. 'We know some sort of gas was used, we just don't know what. The windows were sealed shut so the gas couldn't escape. We had to clear the building before we could allow anyone to investigate. Don't worry, the gas should still be in the victims' tissues. Talk to Anderson about having a look at those,' Greg explained when Sherlock looked up sharply at the whole 'we let the gas escape so we could get the bodies' part.

'Anderson!' Sherlock yelled gruffly, shaking his head. 'He won't work with me.'

The hand above John's arse began to stroke his lover tenderly. It was as though by doing that the irritation that Anderson caused lessened. John allowed the touch for a moment but shifted slightly so Sherlock would know he needed to stop.

'Just rattle off some deduction about him and Donovan,' he whispered to him. 'He's usually too in shock to deny you access to bodies.'

Greg just raised an eyebrow, but knew it was the truth. 'Sorry, but Anderson's all I've got. He's the forensic anthropologist on the scene and that Hooper girl down at the morgue isn't due to get them for another day. The case is pretty fresh, and I know you like to get them as soon as I hear about them.' He glanced up at the two and blushed, remembering the awkwardness from earlier. He opened his mouth to say something, but decided it would be best to ignore the issue altogether. He shook his head, knowing that if they weren't in a relationship already they were bound to get together at some point. It was pretty damn obvious how they felt about each other, even if they seemed utterly clueless. He smiled despite himself and said, 'I'm happy for the two of you, really.'

'Kind of you,' Sherlock muttered, pausing his hand's movements and sending John a nervous glance. He growled under his breath and sighed. 'Anderson will have to do.'

John glanced back at Sherlock, offering him a small smile. 'We would appreciate it if you wouldn't go spreading it around, Greg,' he said, turning to look at him. 'We're not ready for everyone to know.'

Greg snorted and waved his hand in the air, letting them know that he wasn't finished yet. 'If you boys wanted to keep this a secret, what's with your attire? I mean, really?'

Sherlock glared and took a step forwards. He was taller than Greg so took pleasure in making the D.I. feel intimidated.

'What we choose to wear and the reason behind it is not something that concerns you.'

Greg was having none of it. He stood up to his full height (which wasn't much compared to Sherlock), crossed his arms over his chest, and squared his shoulders. He didn't even need to speak. John knew was he was threatening, and he grabbed Sherlock's upper arm to pull him back.

'Sherlock, it was an innocent question. He wasn't mocking us,' John said. 'But yes, the reasons behind our attire don't concern you, Greg. That is between me and Sherlock. Now, we'd still like to help with this case. What else have you got?'

God Sherlock wanted nothing more than to snog John right there and then. He was beautiful even when he was annoyed and coming to his defense.

'I apologize. Now I think it's time I learnt more about these bodies. Where's Anderson?'

'Where do you think he is?' Greg nodded his head behind them and they turned to look. Anderson was leaning against Donovan's desk, glaring at them in Lestrade's office. 'Anything else about the case you'll get from him and the bodies. I've done my part.' Greg sat in his chair and sipped at his coffee, propping his feet up on his desk. 'He's been particularly foul today guys. Be warned.'

John nodded and held the door open for Sherlock, grabbing his arm again before he could bully Anderson into letting them help.

'Play just a tad nicer and I'll reward you later,' John whispered in Sherlock's ear, squeezing his arm gently. 'If he _is_ especially foul, I give you permission to give him hell. But only if I give the go ahead. Understood?'

Sherlock groaned. 'Fine, but I shall have to take my frustration out somewhere else. And considering what we're going to be doing tonight I hope you're prepared to be bed bound for at least a week. A week being the minimum.'

'I look forward to it,' John grinned, pinching Sherlock's side. Greg snickered but let the boys alone. It was about fucking time in his opinion.

John stood off to Sherlock's side as they approached Anderson. He looked more pissed than usual to see Sherlock, and Donovan was trying her best to ignore him as well. That was never a good sign.

'Anderson,' John nodded politely. 'Greg sent us over to get a look at the bodies of the triple homicide.'

'I know why he sent you here,' Anderson sneered. 'And I'm not gonna let you two poofs look at anything.' Donovan's head snapped up from the paperwork she was pretending to do, embarrassment etched all over her face. John clutched onto Sherlock's shirt tightly, his other hand curling into a fist at his side. It was bound to happen sooner or later, but he had almost expected better from Anderson. _Almost._ John could feel Sherlock vibrating with rage at his side. He knew he had to say something before Sherlock flew off the handle, but he was at a loss for words.

'Got nothing to say?' Anderson sneered. 'I though as much. I knew you two were poofs as soon as I saw you two together. When I said at the pink lady's crime scene that I didn't want it contaminated I didn't mean it in the traditional sense. I didn't want it contaminated by your homosexual filth.'

Anderson continued but John wasn't listening anymore. Sally had gotten up to leave but had squeezed his shoulder apologetically before disappearing. John's hands were clenched so tight his knuckles were white and his nails were digging into his palms. He stiffly turned to Sherlock who was looking at him, vibrating with rage, pleading with his eyes.

'Lay it on him, Sherlock,' John grit between clenched teeth. Sherlock grit his teeth and strolled across the room to loom over the smug man.

'Anderson, I understand you have a problem with me but if you dare bring John into this little feud between ourselves then you will regret it.' He wrinkled up his nose and pulled back his lips into a snarl. 'And don't just think that was an empty threat because it wasn't.'

He smacked his wrist on the desk Anderson was lounging against with immense force. 'If I _ever_ hear those sorts of names again I swear I'll – I dread to think what I'll do!'

The fuming man steadied his voice. 'Now I suggest you get the files of the case victims, results from the gas, and fast access to the bodies,' Sherlock growled. 'Be quick about it.' He pointed to the door and watched as a shaken up Anderson slowly got to his feet and left without saying a word.

John watched as Anderson slunk away to retrieve everything Sherlock demanded. As soon as he disappeared from sight John pulled Sherlock into a fierce kiss. He stumbled backward until his legs hit the edge of the desk behind him and leaned against it to keep himself upright.

'I have never been more proud or more turned on in all my life,' John breathed against Sherlock's lips. 'God I want you so bad right now.'

Sherlock grinned, grabbing John's wrist and pulling him to the corner where they would be unseen. That way they were sure to have a little privacy. 'You are inclined to a little preview of what you're going to get.' He pulled John against him, kissing him and grinding his still very prominent erection into John. He moaned as he felt John grow a little.

'Blimey,' he mumbled against his lover's lips. John moaned and arched into Sherlock, pulling the taller man flush against him. His hands slid all over Sherlock's back, stopping when he reached the dip just above his arse and squeezed.

Sherlock pulled back. 'I thought we agreed. No squeezing around – that area.' He narrowed his eyes and smiled softly before moving his hand forward and groping John's erection with all his might. 'Two people can break rules.'

'Oh Jesus fucking Christ,' John swore, throwing his head back and swallowing down a rather obscene moan. He rocked his hips into Sherlock's hand, shaking at how wonderful it felt against his hot, aching prick. He laced his fingers with Sherlock's and rocked into their hands, staring into Sherlock's eyes to intensify the moment.

'Oh my, you like that, don't you?' Sherlock groped John with more force. 'Well there's plenty more of this to come, but only if you sustain your condition.'

'_Like_ it? Sherlock, I bloody _love_ it,' John gasped. He squeezed their hands on his prick and his hips bucked up at the sensation. 'Your long fingers were made for this.'

'My fingers were made for a satisfying amount of things,' he retorted seductively. He rubbed his thumb across the throbbing bulge. 'It's quite sweet that I affect you like this. I can't believe you've lasted for all this time.'

'Sometimes I have a surprising amount of self control,' John smirked. 'That, and being around Anderson kinda killed it for a while.'

Sherlock hummed. 'I can appreciate that. He's an annoying bastard.' He smothered John's lips with his and removed his hand, replacing it with his own aching groin. He began to use very subtle thrusts to drive John insane. John gasped into the kiss and hitched a leg around one of Sherlock's, giving him leverage and Sherlock better access to his groin. He thrust against Sherlock, their pricks sliding against each other's through the fabric of their clothes. John let out little mewls of pleasure as he neared his release.

'Oh fuck, Sherlock. I'm gonna... Gotta stop. Stop. Stop!' He shoved Sherlock back with surprising force and balanced himself against the wall as he tried to calm down. That was a close call. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe, thinking of Anderson's ugly face in order to get his prick to die down. When he opened his eyes Sherlock was grinning at him but just behind him was Anderson. He had dropped the files Sherlock had demanded on the floor and was staring at the two of them with a look of pure horror and disgust on his face.

Sherlock growled beneath his breath, turning around. 'I'd think carefully about it if you're going to say something Anderson.'

The man in question said nothing. He just turned and walked rather briskly to the men's loo. John sighed in relief and sank to the floor, laughter on his lips. That quickly turned into fits of shaking and he wrapped his arms tightly around himself, closing his eyes to block out the precinct.

Sherlock chuckled. 'I think we scarred him for life. Are you ok?' He crouched down to John's level. 'I'm sorry I brought you so close and in front of Anderson.' Of course he was only sorry about the latter part.

'No. No, I'm not ok,' John sighed. 'What the hell are we doing, Sherlock?' He looked up at his lover, his beautiful, gorgeous lover, and sighed, dropping his head. 'We were both so scared when Lestrade popped by not a few hours ago and look at us. Parading around in our best clothes, trousers so god damn tight and erections so prominent people can see what religion we are. And then you've got your hair slicked back and your eyes lined and I just... It's a teasing game for us, but all I'm seeing are people passing notes to one another because of the bets on our relationship. And it sickens me and I... I'm not ready for all that. I'm not ready for people to know.' He buried his head in his hands and took in deep, shaky breaths.

Sherlock sighed and pulled John into a hug. 'May I just remind you I was quite literally trapped in my mind because I was so terrified?' He rocked his lover, lovingly nuzzling his neck. 'However, I have come to a revelation since then. I love you. You're mine. And my heart belongs to you. And as long as that is true nothing else matters.'

Sherlock kissed John lightly on the lips. 'So what if people are betting on our relationship? Isn't it a little sweet that they spend so much time thinking about us?' He smirked. 'Does it scare you because of what they think? Or is it simply because of who they think you're with?' Sherlock looked a little sad. 'Would you feel different if I were a woman ... Or simply if I were normal?'

John clutched tightly to Sherlock. 'It's not sweet that they think about us so often, it's fucking creepy. I've overheard some of their conversations about who tops or bottoms, who gives the best head, one was even about us supposedly becoming so aroused at a crime scene that we had to leave and fuck each other like rabbits.' John reached for one of Sherlock's hands and laced his fingers with his. 'I am not ashamed of being with you, Sherlock. I love you with all my heart and nothing will ever change that. I do not wish that you were a woman and I wouldn't trade you for the most boring, normal human in existence. I love you exactly the way you are, I love everything that you do, and I love you because you let me into your home and into your heart.' He caressed Sherlock's face with his free hand and moved it up so he could look into his bright eyes.

'I love you for you and I wouldn't change a thing about you,' he whispered before he brought him forward for a soft kiss. Sherlock ravaged John's lips for several minutes before having to pull back for air. He grinned.

'Ignore them. They think we're just fucking each other brainless.' His lips quirked. 'Which we most definitely are. But they don't understand that we truly love each other. Now, Mr John Hamish Watson, care to solve a case with me?'

'Why Mr Sherlock Holmes I do believe I would,' John grinned. He gave Sherlock a quick peck on the lips before a rather delicious idea popped into his head. He grinned maliciously at his lover as he crawled across the floor to the files Anderson had dropped, giving Sherlock full view of his arse in his best jeans, wriggling it for good measure.

'Tease,' Sherlock growled, reaching out his hand and spanking John, watching as he writhed from the contact. John's entire body stiffened at the slap and he grit his teeth in pain.

'Ok, from here on out the rules apply again,' he ground out.

'Oh, I see. You get to tease me but I don't get to get you back,' Sherlock pouted, caressing John's right bum cheek.

'No, you just don't get to slap my arse. It hurts and it's against the rules,' John hissed, batting Sherlock's hand away. 'Unless you want me to pinch your sore arse in return that is.'

Sherlock wriggled his eyebrows. 'That would only give me further cause to wreck that arse of yours more than I already have.'

John considered that a moment, cocking his head to the side as he organized the papers strewn about on the floor. 'So what you're saying is, the more I tease you the harder you'll fuck me after dinner?' he asked, a twinkle in his eyes.

Sherlock groaned. 'I should not have said that.' He shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips. John smirked and handed the files over to Sherlock, making sure their fingers touched. He sat back on his heels and began fanning himself.

'It's rather warm in here, don't you think Sherlock?' He slowly unbuttoned the first two buttons of his shirt, his hand lingering over the third before undoing that as well. Sherlock's eyes bulged as he tried to ignore the urge to rip John's clothes off right there on the spot.

'It certainly is,' he replied. His top two buttons were already undone but he started plucking at more buttons despite that fact.

'Now, now, Sherlock,' John tutted. 'It won't do for you to be arrested for indecent exposure today. You _are_ in the center of Scotland Yard with hundreds of police officers abound. Quite a few of which would love to see you behind bars.' John hummed at the image. 'Now that I picture it, I would kind of like to see you behind bars. My hardened criminal, my bad boy.' John was practically vibrating and his hand dropped to the crotch of his trousers, his fingers skimming along his erection.

'Come now, love.' Sherlock snogged John and wrapped his hands around his erection. 'Surely this isn't helping.'

John moaned and thrust into Sherlock's hand, pulling him down until he was on his back with Sherlock looming over him. 'No, it isn't helping. But it feels fucking amazing.'

Sherlock groped John. 'Tell me to stop when it gets to be too much.'

John nodded and thrust up into Sherlock's hands, his back arching up off the floor. God he wanted Sherlock's cock so bad. He batted Sherlock's hands away and pulled him down by the waist, their groins coming into contact. John sighed and rocked his hips up in a steady rhythm, making sure Sherlock would be just as hot and bothered as he was.

Sherlock was trembling with anticipation. This moment was one of the rare moments that he let himself indulge in feeling human and it seemed only right that it was John who made him feel that way. He pushed himself as close as possible to John and felt in wonderment as his cock throbbed against the surface of his trousers. Said trousers were now stretched to their maximum with the V now tenting out. He started pounding himself against John, grunting and wheezing.

John braced his feet against the floor and met Sherlock thrust for thrust. He was lost in the moment, completely forgetting that they were humping each other on the floor in Scotland Yard. All he knew was that Sherlock was trying to fuck him through his trousers and it felt way too fucking good to care who spotted them. Sherlock's thrusts were becoming harder and harsher and John could tell he was close. Well that just wouldn't do. They had after dinner plans to look forward to. Mustering as much self control as he could he forced his body to stop moving and pushed Sherlock away by his shoulders.

'Too close,' he said in a ragged breath. 'And you are too.'

Sherlock groaned. It was true that he was on the very cusp of coming in his trousers. Somewhere in his mind told him that perhaps what they were doing was wrong in such a public place. But that part was drowned out by the part that wanted to fuck the living day lights out of John.

'Yes I am,' he exhaled deeply, brushing a finger over his groin.

'Which is why we should hurry up and solve this case.' He pushed himself up and grabbed hold of John, pulling him up. He moved behind the desk and sat down. Patting his knee he said, 'Come sit down on my lap Jonathan.'

John's cock lurched when Sherlock used his full name. It did when he said 'John' as well, but 'Jonathan' just felt more intimate and personal. He sat down in Sherlock's lap without a second thought, his right arm draping over Sherlock's shoulders to keep himself balanced but also so he could rub soothing circles on the back of Sherlock's neck.

'Yes, Sherlock,' he whispered huskily into the detective's ear. 'Hurry and solve this case so you can take me home and fuck me with no mercy.'

Sherlock ignored the way his cock throbbed beneath John's arse, picking up the files. His mind went into overdrive and suddenly he'd come to a shocking discovery:

All of the victims were short, stocky blond men... Much like John.

His heart pounded in his chest. This had Moriarty written all over it.

John was perusing through the witness statements when he felt Sherlock's body stiffen.

'Find something?' he asked, peering to look at the photographs of the victims.

'John, I need to make a quick phone call. Can you get off of me for one moment? And perhaps leave the room. Don't ask questions. Just trust me.' Sherlock's jaw was taught and his whole body was tense.

Shit. It was pretty serious then. John nodded and stood up, grabbing onto Sherlock's arm before he could sprint away.

'I just want you to know, that no matter what happens, I love you and I trust you with my life.'

Sherlock sighed and nodded as he watched John retreat. That was what he was rather afraid of. Plucking his phone from his pocket he dialed in the number to the only person he knew could help him. Much to his discomfort said person was his brother.

John left the room and went to sit on one of the benches randomly dispersed throughout the Yard. He felt like a little kid, banished from the room so the adults could talk alone. He sighed and ran the toe of his shoe along the carpet. What had gotten Sherlock so worked up? It must have involved him, he wouldn't have reacted so drastically if it hadn't. A cup of coffee materialized in front of him and he looked up to see Sergeant Sally Donovan standing there.

'Oh. Hi Sally. Thanks,' he said, accepting the cup and letting it warm his hands. Sally nodded curtly and turned to leave but she stopped. She sighed and strode back to John on the bench, sitting down next to him.

'I feel like I should apologize for Anderson's behavior,' she explained.

'Oh, no, that's fine,' John stammered quickly. 'You don't have to do that. Sherlock already threatened him and I'm pretty sure we scarred him for life earlier too. Don't ask,' he added quickly.

'I'm still sorry he said those things to you two,' she said. 'In all the time I've known him he never seemed like the, the...'

'Homophobic type?'

'Yeah.'

'Well, I never saw myself as bisexual until I moved in with Sherlock. And even at that I don't think I'm completely bisexual.'

'How do you mean?'

'I mean, Sherlock is the only man I've ever been attracted to. In my entire life, even throughout the college experimentation years, Sherlock is the only man I have ever been attracted to and the only man I have ever wanted to be in a relationship with. Only him.'

'That actually sounds really sweet when you put it like that,' Sally smiled.

'He may not look it, but he's actually quite the sentimental fool,' John grinned. 'Oh god, don't tell him I told you that. He has got a reputation to maintain after all.'

'Yeah. Freak's gotta be respected somehow.'

'Don't use that word,' John nearly growled, glaring at her.

'What word? Freak?'

'Yes, that word Sally. I don't like it, I never have, and I would greatly appreciate it if you would stop using it. It's a simple word but it holds a lot of power. So please, stop.'

Sally actually had the decency to look morose and she nodded apologizing. 'I have to get back to work. Good luck on the case by the way. We, well, I really appreciate you two taking the time to help. It's a strange one.'

'Tell me about it. Sherlock is in full on case mode. One look at the photos of the victims and he's already spouting theories.'

'There was something off about those people,' Sally mused. 'Tan, blonde, well-built. They sort of reminded me of you.' She shrugged and stood up to leave, squeezing John's shoulder as she left. John didn't feel it though. He didn't see Sally leave, didn't hear the noise of the Yard, didn't smell the cheap coffee in the cheap cup in his hands. All he could think about were Sally's words: 'They sort of reminded me of you.' That must have been what made Sherlock so tense and protective. He suspected someone was after John, and he had a hunch he knew who.

This was more than a bit not good.

* * *

Oh shit. Our boys are in trouble. What will they do and how will they cope? Tune in next week for the exciting conclusion! Sorry, I couldn't help myself. But we'll see you all next week, with some more angst and sexy times ;)

TSA + IB


	6. A Fresh Problem

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock & Mycroft

Me: John

_Warnings for this chapter: some bondage while men go at it, Moriarty sending Sherlock a warning._

* * *

Chapter 6 – A Fresh Problem

Sherlock's hand shook vigorously as he held the phone to his ear. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his beating heart down. It would do him no good to be in a state of panic. He had to be strong right now. If not for himself then for John. It seemed like time stretched on endlessly as the phone rang out and for a moment he panicked. Could it be the one time he came seeking his brother's help that the man didn't pick up his call? However his panic was soon put to rest as the line crackled as the sharp voice belonging to Mycroft Holmes rushed to his ear.

'A phone call. Should I be worried?'

'Maybe,' Sherlock bit back a little more harshly than he had intended.

'What's wrong?' Mycroft's reply was quick and got straight to the point. The government official knew that whatever the cause for Sherlock ringing him was serious. The younger Holmes brother sounded truly shaken up.

'Is this line secure?' Sherlock questioned.

'Of course. I presume this is isn't a social call then?'

'God forbid if it were a social call,' Sherlock snorted. 'It's about John.'

'Oh? And what about our mutual friend has gotten you in such a state?'

The detective swallowed down hard at the term 'mutual friend.' That term certainly didn't apply to John anymore. He wasn't quite sure if he should tell his brother. Would he laugh? Would he be called a sentimental fool? Would he simply be stunned into silence out of pure horror? John certainly wouldn't be happy about it and Sherlock wasn't all that comfortable about his brother knowing that he'd finally lost his virginity and that he did indeed hold a heart capable of feeling such things as human emotion.

'Sherlock?' Mycroft questioned, worried by the sudden silence on the other end of the line.

Sherlock shook his head and exhaled deeply. He hadn't realized just how zoned out he'd been. 'I believe his life may be in the gravest danger. I need your help.'

'What sort of danger?'

'Does it matter!?' Sherlock exclaimed. 'I need your assurance that you'll try to help me. Maybe together we stand a chance against him.'

'Him?' Mycroft questioned, puzzled.

'Yes. Jim Moriarty. A devil in a suit,' Sherlock retorted. 'Now, can I have your assurance?'

'You can. We must meet in person. You can fill me in on the details when you reach my office. I will try my best to help you.'

'I'll meet you later tonight. I'll come alone,' Sherlock said, his voice bitter and ice cold.

'You haven't told him?'

'No.'

'Are you going to?'

'No. I'm going to protect him from the truth as far as humanely possible.'

'Very well. Is it wise that you're going to leave him alone?'

'No. It is an incredibly foolish thing to do. However, I somehow doubt Moriarty will make a move yet. He wants me to solve this puzzle. He likes to watch me dance.'

'Indeed it would appear so. I shall see you tonight. I'll heighten security around your flat for the time being.'

As the line hung up Sherlock let his head drop onto the desk. He silently asked himself why it seemed bad things always happened to anyone and anything he let into his heart. And John was now his everything, his world, his love, his crutch to the real world. He couldn't lose him. He wasn't going to let Moriarty take him away from him.

John stayed on the bench, his coffee cup abandoned at his feet. He sat ramrod straight, his feet planted on the floor, his hands clasped in his lap. Whenever he was nervous he always reverted to sitting at attention, a habit of his army days. He stared at the door Sherlock was behind, probably on the phone with Mycroft. If Moriarty really was after him, John knew Sherlock would want nothing but the best security offered, even if he had to go through his brother to get it.

_Sherlock's been in there for a while. Is everything alright? Should I go check on him? No. No, he asked for your trust and you have to trust him. He'll come get you when he's ready._

Sherlock gradually brought himself to stand. He walked over to the door and placed his hand on the door handle, freezing as he mentally prepared himself. When he walked out he asked Lestrade where John had gone to. The D.I seemed a little concerned but told him anyway and it didn't take him long to find the army doctor sat patiently on a bench.

'John, we're going home now. I'm sorry. Our dinner plans have been rescheduled. We can get a take away if that's what you so wish but I'm not particularly hungry right now.' He tried to make eye contact, he really did, but that was so difficult. He hated not being able to tell John what was going on but really it was for the best.

'Oh.' John's face fell. While he had been looking forward to dinner, the severity of the situation took precedence. 'I'm not particularly hungry right now either, so we can just go home.' _Is he going to tell me? Should I even ask?_ 'What um... Is anything wrong?'

'Wrong?' Sherlock questioned innocently. 'Nothing's wrong.' As the words left his lips his heart dropped into a bucket of icy cold water. Voices within his mind palace began whispering against his ear drums.

_Wrong. Everything is just so wrong. You're lying to him. Yes to protect him. What if it's not enough? What if he gets hurt despite your best efforts? What if it drags you down too? You could lose everything … because John is your everything._

He blinked and shook away his thoughts, drowning out the poisonous voices with a cold numbness.

'This case has proved to be a little tricky, that's all. I think I have it under control though.' He placed an arm around John, almost tugging him into a death grip. He placed a loving kiss upon his Adam's apple. 'I love you,' he whispered softly. 'Now, let's go home and rest. And by rest I mean—' He trailed off, waggling his eyebrows a little playfully. Perhaps he could distract John from asking further questions. He could certainly try anyway.

_So he __**isn't**__ going to tell me. Interesting,_ John mused. He pursed his lips as Sherlock avoided telling him what he already knew was the problem. But why? Did he think leaving John in the dark would protect him? He didn't get very long to think on that as Sherlock had grabbed him in a rather tight embrace and was telling him that he loved him. _Oh no, it must be life-threatening._

'I love you too Sherlock,' he whispered against the taller man's hair. He knew what Sherlock was trying to do, he wasn't an idiot, but he allowed the distraction because it would benefit them both. 'And yes, I do think some "rest" would do us some good.'

Sherlock placed more kisses down John's neck, only too glad that he'd managed to avoid more questions, at least for now anyway. 'I'm going to show you how much you mean to me,' he said in a dark and sickly, honey-coated promise. 'Because I don't think you really understand how much you mean to me.'

_God does this man mean a lot to me. When did these strange feelings creep up on me? It doesn't matter now Sherlock. You've fallen in love now. And Moriarty intends to use that against you. He intends to burn the very heart out of you. He intends to hurt John in order to hurt you. If he gets hurt it'll be all your fault._

'Yes, Sherlock, yes. Show me how much you love me,' John groaned, arching into the detective's touch, his libido winning over reason. 'But, not here. Take me home, Sherlock. Take me to bed.'

Sherlock's heart jolted with the first bit of happiness since the revelation he'd made about the current case. He hummed, grabbing John by the wrist and dragging him outside.

They were soon sitting in a taxi again, homeward bound. John fidgeted nervously on the cab ride home. He was anxious to get back to the flat and shag Sherlock senseless, but he was also nervous about the case. He didn't want to dwell on it, he didn't want to focus on it, on the possible danger his life was in. He shook the thoughts from his head and reached for Sherlock's hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing gently.

When the two arrived home Sherlock was almost hyperventilating. Blimey he needed a shag. It'd make him forget all of the worries now resting on his shoulders. John handed the cabbie the proper amount of bills that time before heading to the door of 221 Baker Street. He noticed Sherlock was shaking in anticipation, or was it anxiety over the case? Maybe it was both. He had somehow calmed down during the cab ride and the significance of what they were about to do and why had hit him like a ton of bricks. He needed to feel alive, especially with Moriarty after him, and he was willing to do whatever Sherlock wanted – _needed _– to do in order to assure himself that he was still alive.

As soon as they crossed into the sitting room of 221B, John spun around and crushed his lips on Sherlock's, pushing him backwards until his back hit the door. He pulled Sherlock flush against him, grinding against him subtly but enough to get his cock hard again (he'd lost his erection in the cab due to his mind wandering to depressing and serious issues).

'I want you to ravish me,' he growled into Sherlock's ear, thrusting his hips up sharply. 'I want you to _destroy_ me, _claim_ me, make me _yours_.'

Sherlock pulled John inside of his bedroom, kissing him heatedly. He lifted John up onto the bed.

'Wait a minute.' He smiled softly, walking to his wardrobe he pulled out his favourite scarf. 'I have an idea. I hope you approve.'

John eyed the scarf apprehensively. It was one of his favourites of Sherlock's rather impressive collection, and he had a pretty good idea of what Sherlock wanted to use it for. He stroked the bed sheets to calm himself, enjoying the feel of silk under his fingers. He glanced at the headboard, then back down at the sheets which had been changed. Either Sherlock had changed them before they left for the Yard or Mrs Hudson had come in. John told himself that Sherlock had done it. He didn't want to think about Mrs Hudson walking into their 'war zone' after the rough fuck he'd given Sherlock only hours before. He tore his eyes away from the sheets and looked back up at Sherlock who was still holding the scarf.

_Whatever he wants, whatever he needs,_ John told himself. He smiled as coyly as he could manage and stood up, sauntering over to his lover.

'I am definitely liking the prospect of all that could be used for,' he said, stroking the scarf gently. 'But I think we have far too many clothes on to use that, don't you?'

Sherlock hummed softly, placing the navy blue scarf on the bed. He let his fingers skim delicately over John's buttons. He plucked them at almost an unbearable rate but since today's events John was like a piece of glass in the detective's eyes, and he was almost afraid of John shattering under his touch. He pulled the top from John's shoulders, dropping it neatly to the ground, and smoothed his finger tips down his chest. Somewhere in his mind he needed to feel John's solid form beneath his touch to tell him that everything was going to be ok, that John was alive and well, and out of all odds belonged to him.

He placed a waver light kiss to John's lips, his breath catching in his throat. Previously his hormones had been battering all of his thoughts of what was occurring around him. Somewhere between inhaling a homemade drug to see how far away it took him from reality to waking up for the first time in his life feeling safe and happy he had somehow gotten lucky. He had always thought John was special, that there was a connection between them, an unspoken bond, but now to be able to access every part of him in a literal and figurative sense was too good to be true.

His heart thudded almost painfully in his chest as he realized how dangerous both of their lives were, how fragile he seemed, how breakable his bones and hot flesh were.

_All lives end. All hearts are broken._

He closed his eyes and exhaled softly as he unbuckled John's trousers. His eyes dilated as he saw that John wasn't wearing any boxer shorts. 'My, my. You were rather keen,' he spoke for the first time in what seemed like hours.

John's breath hitched as Sherlock methodically worked his way down his torso, first with his shirt buttons and then with his touch. He was being overly gentle, like John would break in his hands. He would have to remind him that he wouldn't break, but now was not that time. He smiled when Sherlock reached his trousers to discover he had forgone his pants, giggling slightly.

'I thought you might like that,' he grinned, looking down at him. 'I was planning on leaning over at a very inappropriate time at the Yard to tell you and see how you would react. Too bad I never got the chance.' He nudged his hips forward. 'Now finish undressing me so I can do the same to you.' Sherlock was only too happy to comply. He pulled John's trousers completely off and chucked them to the side.

'You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen,' he whispered. 'I just thought I'd let you know.'

'And you are the most beautiful thing _I've_ ever seen,' John whispered, his fingers releasing the buttons on Sherlock's purple shirt, trailing kisses down his chest as he fell to his knees at Sherlock's feet. The shirt fell to the floor as John worked on Sherlock's trousers, pleased to see that he had forgone pants as well.

'Who's keen now, Sherlock?' John smirked as he pulled Sherlock's trousers down to the floor. He stood up and wrapped his arms around Sherlock's neck, pulling him into an intimate kiss. Their tongues danced for a few moments before John pulled back to whisper in Sherlock's ear.

'Now, I am _very_ curious to see how you will be using that scarf,' he smiled coyly. 'Why don't you show me?'

'I have two ideas actually.' Sherlock pushed John onto the bed gently. He picked up the scarf, running the material under his fingertips. He climbed on top of John and began to slowly rock against him. 'Would you like to hear them?'

'Do I get to decide which one I like better?' John asked, sighing in content as Sherlock rocked above him.

'Of course,' Sherlock said with a manic grin.

The curly haired man ran the material over John's lips. 'I could either gag you. It could push against your throat as a thousand delicious noises try to escape. Or—' He chuckled. 'I could tie your hands behind your back whilst I'm making love to you so you can't move. You will be as powerless as a new born baby.'

Sherlock was careful to use the term 'making love.' He hadn't used it before. It had been 'fuck' or 'sex' and that had been ok, but somehow 'making love' made the act seem so magnificent.

John thought carefully on the two options. If his hands were tied he wouldn't be able to touch himself or Sherlock, but if he was gagged he wouldn't be able to say sweet and filthy nothings as Sherlock made love to him. Considering the recent circumstances, John knew which one was the better choice.

'Tie my hands together,' he said, staring Sherlock in the eye. 'It's your turn to be in control, so take control of me, all of me.'

'Turn around,' he ordered. As John did so Sherlock pressed himself against John's entire body. He grabbed John's wrists and ran the scarf's material over them before wrapping it around them and tying a firm knot. John let out a wanton moan as Sherlock's entire nude body pressed up against his. His prick rested perfectly between his butt cheeks and he rocked back teasingly. As his hands were bound he grabbed onto the ends of the scarf, holding onto the silk materials. If that was as close as he could get to touching Sherlock then he would take it. He wiggled his arse teasingly again and grinned against the sheets. Sherlock rubbed himself a little more frantically over John. His cock throbbed with want. He placed a kiss on John's right bum cheek.

'Now I do believe you said you'd sit on my cock whilst I drive you home.'

'Yes I did,' John hummed. 'But you're going to have to prepare me first. And then you're going to have to help me sit on your cock as I can't use my arms.'

Sherlock grinned and stuck two fingers by John's mouth. 'Suck,' he whispered gently.

John moaned and sucked the offered fingers in his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and lapping his tongue around them like he did Sherlock's cock. He hummed around Sherlock's fingers, hungry in anticipation of what was to come. Literally and figuratively.

Sherlock moaned softly. 'You're too good at this.' John huffed a laugh and continued coating Sherlock's fingers with his saliva. He'd gotten pretty good at it in the short amount of time they'd been together. He'd never done it prior to last night, but after all their stints in that time he had developed a basic technique. He couldn't wait to hone it and become somewhat of an expert in that area.

Sherlock pulled his fingers from John's mouth. 'Prepare yourself,' he warned as he moved his fingers to where John so desperately wanted them.

He wouldn't normally have warned John but something had broken in Sherlock today that made him unseen to hurt John.

John pushed himself closer to Sherlock's fingers, desperate for the contact. 'Come on Sherlock, please. I'm ready. Please.'

Sherlock closed his eyes and taking a deep breath he plunged two fingers in. John gasped and clenched down around Sherlock's fingers. It burned a little but it wasn't painful. He pushed his face closer to the mattress, his hands clutching the scarf tightly.

'That's it Sherlock. Open me up. Open me so I can sit on that gorgeous fucking cock of yours and you can drive me home.'

'I don't want to hurt you,' he whispered, continuing to drive John mad with his fingers. 'Tell me if it gets too painful.' He closed his eyes and took a shaky breath. 'I couldn't bear to see you hurt.'

'I'm not made of glass, Sherlock. I'm not going to break,' John told him, rocking back on his fingers. 'Need I remind you that I was _shot_, died on the table _twice_, but ultimately _lived__?_ I think I can survive you sticking your prick up my arse and fucking me with reckless abandon.'

'Don't say that!' Sherlock exclaimed. 'I never want to imagine you like that. I never want to think that we could have never met.' Tears swelled in his eyes and one splashed on John's back. John froze. He hadn't meant to affect Sherlock in such a way. Hell, he'd made Sherlock _cry_. This was not good. No. Not one bit. Tears welled up in John's own eyes and he swallowed thickly around the lump forming in his throat.

'Untie me, Sherlock,' he croaked out. 'Please.'

'No.' Sherlock's jaw tightened stubbornly as he began to move his fingers faster, throwing himself into the task at hand rather than paying attention to his emotions.

'Sher– oh fuck,' John groaned, his hips involuntarily rocking back on Sherlock's dexterous fingers. 'You can't... Oh god... Run away from your... Jesus... Emotions forever. At... Shit... At some point you're going to... Oh god there, yes... To have to face them. Talk about them.' John knew it was useless trying to talk about it now, especially with Sherlock's fingers doing such wonderful, pleasurable things.

Sherlock hit John's pleasure spot relentlessly. 'I'm not running away,' he bit back.

'Then let's talk. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!' Sherlock had hit John's prostate and in the emotional state he was in it was exactly what he needed to bring him back to their current activity. 'After you fuck me, preferably. Please, Sherlock. Can I have your cock now?'

Sherlock removed his fingers and grabbed John, turning him around. Before John could even comment on Sherlock's teary eyes his cock was inside of him and his lips started to attack the soldier's. John gave an 'mmph' against Sherlock's sudden attack on his lips, but it quickly turned into a moan of pleasure and he kissed Sherlock back, hard. He rocked his hips against Sherlock's, rutting on his cock as Sherlock writhed above him. He broke the kiss and gasped for air.

'I thought I was going to ride you?' he asked, somewhat disappointed. 'But this is good too.'

Sherlock pulled at John and leant back onto the bed, watching as John fell onto his cock heavily. 'Better?' he asked softly. He glanced away from John. He didn't want the other man to see how emotional he still was.

'Oh god yes,' John moaned. He threw his head back as he impaled himself on Sherlock's cock, his hands grasping the silk scarf but slowly going slack as he focused on giving Sherlock pleasure too.

'Hey. Sherlock, hey,' he said gently. 'Don't dwell on what I said. Forget that I said it. Delete it from your mind. Look at me. I'm alive and am sitting on your cock. Don't think about what could have been. Think about what _is_, what's happening _now_, and don't get lost in your mind. Please.'

He wiggled slowly up then slowly down Sherlock's cock, hoping to draw him out of his reverie and maybe get a rather delicious moan out of him as well.

'I won't,' Sherlock gasped, thrusting upwards. 'I promise.' He moaned and bit his lip. His cock was already begging for a release but he told himself he'd hold on.

'Good,' John half smiled as Sherlock thrust up in earnest. 'Oh fuck. I'm close, Sherlock. Don't stop.'

Sherlock grunted as he frantically bucked upwards. 'I'm close too. I guess it's because we teased the fuck out of our cocks before.'

'That's definitely it,' John ground out. 'Touch me.' Sherlock reached out, wrapping his cool fingers around John's beating cock.

'Oh fuck,' John gasped, fucking himself on Sherlock's cock and in his hand. 'God, so close. Tell me something filthy, Sherlock. Use my name. Help me cum all over your torso as I fuck myself on your cock.'

'Jonathan Hamish Watson I hope you know that by the time my cock is done ramming itself up your arse you won't be able to stand,' Sherlock growled.

'Ooooh yes, Sherlock, yes,' John gasped, frantically moving above Sherlock. 'More. Tell me more.'

'You'll be so raw from this that even moving your legs will pain you.' Sherlock ran one hand to John's arse and lightly spanked it.

Ok, so perhaps his lust was winning over his concern to not hurt John, but that skin on skin sound sent Sherlock to pure ecstasy. That extra jolt was all it took to send John over the edge. He screamed Sherlock's name until his voice had gone hoarse. Sherlock twisted his hand around John's cock as he began a frantic pattern of thrusting upwards so hard John almost slid off of him and bringing his hips back down so John landed on him with a heavy thud.

'Oh fuck Sherlock yes!' John cried, still cumming. He tried to impale himself on Sherlock's cock again. When he realized his legs weren't working (god damn, Sherlock had been right about the not being able to walk thing) he leaned back and used the pads of his fingers to stroke Sherlock's sac.

Sherlock gasped. 'Oh god.' He shook his head. 'A little longer.' He was determined to be at this for a little while longer. The longer he was here the longer he didn't have to leave to see his brother to discuss the danger John was in.

John's cock was still in Sherlock's hand and his arse was still clamped around Sherlock's cock, and the combined stimulation was making him hard again. _Fastest non-drug-induced recovery time_, John thought sarcastically to himself.

'Look at that, Sherlock. With your prick up my arse and my prick in your hand you've gotten me hard again already,' he grinned down at his beautifully debauched lover. 'See how good you make me feel? How good does it feel to have me still riding your cock? Fucking your hand? Oooh Sherlock it all feels so good, I think I'm gonna cum again.'

'It feels tremendous,' Sherlock groaned. 'Now cum for me and if you're very lucky I will too. In fact beg. If you want me so badly you'll have to beg.'

John writhed frantically over Sherlock, panting in exhaustion and from being so close to cumming for the second time in only minutes.

'Please, Sherlock, please. Cum for me. Cum in my arse, make me cum all over you again. Stay with me, stay in me, don't stop.' Sherlock arched his back and groaned as he finally allowed his cock its release.

'Yes, Sherlock, yes,' John moaned, arching his back so Sherlock's cock would reach a new angle. 'Oh fuck, _fuck!_ I'm cumming!' He threw back his head in ecstasy has he began cumming all over Sherlock's torso again. Sherlock's eyes rolled to the back of his skull as he rode through their joint orgasm.

'Thank you,' he muttered. 'I needed this distraction.' John collapsed on top of Sherlock, landing with an obscene splat in his own cum. If he didn't feel so sated he would have been disgusted.

'Oh, I needed this too,' he grinned goofily against Sherlock's chest. He wriggled his arms to let Sherlock know he wanted out of his restraints. Sherlock's fingers trembled as they untied John. He gently placed the scarf to one side and pulled himself out of John.

'No, but really. I can't thank you enough." The tears were starting to form again. Sherlock could tell he had wet eyes. He blinked and smiled weakly at John. John nuzzled his nose against Sherlock's jaw.

'I needed it too, Sherlock. More than you know.' He sighed, brushing away thoughts of Moriarty before they ruined his 'I just had sex' high.

'Help me into the covers?' he asked weakly. 'It seems you did render my legs useless.' Sherlock lifted the cover and dragged John's limp body beneath it.

'Sorry,' he croaked. 'I got terribly carried away.'

'Like I said earlier, Sherlock, a rough fuck is ok every once in a while. And I'm not made of glass. I'm just so sated that I can't move properly. It's happened before and it will happen again.' He grabbed Sherlock's arm and pulled him down for a soothing kiss, draping the covers around them. 'I'll be fine, love. No need to worry.'

'No it's not ok!' Sherlock exclaimed. 'It's not right that you have to get hurt because of me.' Of course he wasn't talking about sex anymore. His thoughts steered towards Moriarty, his brother, and the protection Sherlock had to get John in order to keep him safe. John blanched at Sherlock's tone. This wasn't about the sex anymore and they both knew it. And it was apparent Sherlock didn't know that John knew, so John decided to test him one more time.

'Sherlock, this isn't just about sex anymore, is it?' he questioned quietly. 'Something's wrong. More than wrong. I can feel it in your tense muscles and your over-protectiveness. Please, Sherlock, tell me what's wrong.'

'Some aspects of my life don't concern you.' Sherlock closed his eyes. 'Now go to sleep. It's been a long day.'_Too long,_ a small voice added in the back of his mind.

John nodded and sighed in defeat, knowing not to push Sherlock too far into talking about something he most definitely didn't want to talk about. The last time that had happened they'd shouted at each other for hours, John had gone to bed angry, and Sherlock had rearranged the contents of the fridge so that John had to move bags of eyeballs and fingers to get at the milk. In the end they had both sort of surrendered, but the issue had never truly been resolved. He couldn't even remember what they had been trying to discuss. He laid his head on Sherlock's chest, listening to the erratic heartbeat as his chest rose and fell with shaky breaths.

_He cares so much, and it scares him,_ John swallowed. He buried his nose in his chest and inhaled deeply, loving Sherlock's natural musk mixed with the smell of sex. If he could bottle that into a cologne he would do so in a heartbeat. He clutched weakly at Sherlock's arms, trying to give himself as much skin-on-skin contact as possible.

'Stay with me until I fall asleep,' John whispered, nuzzling his nose into the hollow at Sherlock's throat. 'That's all I ask. Please.'

'I'm not going anywhere.' Sherlock swallowed thickly, knowing that that was one more lie on top of a thousand other lies to come. He wrapped his arms around John tightly and sighed softly as John snuggled up against him. He wished he didn't have to lie. He kept on telling himself that it was for John's own good but then why was there that gut wrenching feeling of doing wrong bubbling in his gut?

John sighed and snuggled closer to Sherlock. For being all bones and angles his body made a surprisingly soft and comfortable pillow. John thought sleep would be a long time coming, but with the physical exhaustion of his two orgasms plus the mental exhaustion from teasing each other for over an hour _plus_ the threat of Moriarty looking over them, his eyelids began to droop and his grip on Sherlock slackened just a bit.

'I love you Sherlock,' John grumbled into his chest, tilting his nose up so his lips were at the underside of Sherlock's jaw. 'I love you so much. I just thought you should know that.' He pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock's jaw, hoping to tempt him into a soft kiss before he fell asleep.

'I love you too.' _I love you a little too much._Sherlock brushed his lips against John's. 'Now sleep.' John hummed against the kiss and settled his head against Sherlock's chest, drifting off to sleep safe and warm in Sherlock's arms.

It was horrible watching John sleep. It was like looking at those photos of the young men all over again, and if it wasn't for the slight movement of his chest Sherlock would have found himself terrified that he was dead. His mind was ticking frantically. It hurt to think. His mind palace was under attack left, right, and center, and with it his pulse beat frantically as his heart pumped out of control. He slowly pulled himself away from the sleeping man. John gave off a disgruntled sound but apart from that remained completely still. Satisfied John was fast asleep he began to talk, knowing full well that the doctor couldn't really hear him.

'I'm sorry, you know. I've been selfish. I let you get too close to me. I'm a dangerous man to be close to, believe me. However I am more sorry for what might happen now that you are in danger. Just know this: I will do whatever it takes to keep you safe.' He let himself have the guilty pleasure of leaving a light kiss on John's head before dragging himself from the bed. He sighed heavily as he began to clean himself up and pull on his clothes. He grabbed his coat and with a small smile pulling at his lips picked up the scarf that only moments ago had been used for far less innocent reasons than keeping warm.

'Goodbye Jonathan,' he muttered, shutting the door to the bedroom and heading out of the flat and into the dusky night.

John slept soundly and dreamlessly, safe and warm, clutching onto his Sherlock pillow. He gave a small sound of discomfort when he felt his pillow shift but was too far into his sleep to really wake up and do anything about it. He could hear Sherlock's voice, muffled and almost distressed breaching through his sleep-addled mind. He didn't understand what he was saying but his voice echoed through his mind and it gave him some rather delicious dreams. As his body started to register that there was no longer another warm body by its side his dreams turned into nightmares.

He was running after Sherlock, whether they were on a case and he was trying to catch up or he was simply chasing after him was unknown. All he knew was that Sherlock was getting farther and farther away from him and no matter how hard he tried to catch up he couldn't. He tried shouting but Sherlock didn't hear him. There was a loud bang in his dream and he continued to run to investigate but when he rounded a corner he found Sherlock's body on the ground and Moriarty standing over him, pointing a gun at John with a malicious grin on his face. As soon as Moriarty fired the gun at him John jolted awake with a harsh cry and clutched at his chest, his wounded shoulder protesting at just the idea of being shot. John gulped down deep breaths to stead himself, telling himself it was only a dream, that Sherlock was alive and _he_ was alive, they were both alive and safe. He flopped back down on the bed and shut his eyes, forcing himself to fall back asleep, not even realizing that Sherlock wasn't in bed with him.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock arrived at Mycroft's office at the dead of night. He'd walked, wanting to clear his head without the silly interruptions cab drivers seemed to make. He hadn't even needed to knock on his brother's door. It was wide open. Sherlock's heart skipped a beat. Something was wrong here, not quite right, out of place. He walked silently in, monitoring the room with expert eyes, trying to hone in on anything that was fishy or out of order. He froze as he heard a muffled groan.

He swallowed down hard as he walked in the direction that the sound had come from. He felt a little bit of himself break when he came across the sight that now lay before him. Mycroft was now crumpled on the floor. There was a gash running straight through his brother's forehead and blood was gushing from the wound heavily. It looked as though his brother had taken a punch to the nose too and his cheeks and neck were dotted in an array of purple bruises.

Sherlock dropped to his knees and exhaled softly. 'Oh, Myc.' Myc was a reference to the nickname their mother, and in turn he, had called the younger Mycroft Holmes. It was a sign that Sherlock was terrified and, in truth, he really did feel just like a ten-year-old boy way out of his depth.

As the two Holmes brothers clutched at each other in the dark all Sherlock could think was, _Moriarty will pay for this._ Because, without even asking, Sherlock knew that only one person could have done this to his brother. This was a warning.

* * *

Sorry for all the cliffhangers. But I torture myself with these as much as I do you guys. Sorry, but not really. We'll see you next week. Happy Red Pants Monday!

TSA + IB


	7. How I've Missed You

Sorry this chapter is so short. I would hate to call it a filler, but that's kind of what this is.

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Mycroft

Me: John, Greg

_Warnings for this chapter: mostly just angst, but there's a lot of it._

* * *

Chapter 7 – How I've Missed You

John woke the next morning feeling more exhausted than he'd been when he went to sleep. After the nightmare he didn't sleep well at all, and every now and again it would come back. He didn't jump in surprise anymore; just let himself wake up before forcing himself to fall back asleep. He'd stopped dreaming after the nightmare began for the third time, but it was a restless sleep.

As he started to rouse himself from the little sleep he'd gotten he groped blindly for Sherlock, hoping to pull him close and get a few more minutes of sleep, but all his hand encountered was cold, empty sheets. He slowly lifted his head to see that he was the only one in bed. Maybe Sherlock had gotten up before him? Maybe he hadn't slept? He was probably out in the kitchen working on an experiment or trying to solve the triple homicide.

'Sherlock?' he called, not that he would hear if he was in experiment mode. He sat up slowly, his arse protesting but at least his legs worked again. He stood up and went to grab his pajama bottoms before he remembered he wasn't in his room. He groaned and ran his hands over his face. _Maybe Sherlock won't mind if I borrow his pajamas again,_ he thought to himself. Sherlock's blue dressing gown was still on the floor and the pajamas John had 'forced' him into were on the floor as well. He picked up the clothes and pulled them on, smiling when he was enveloped in the essence of Sherlock. He pulled on the dressing gown and ran his hands down the silky fabric, wrapping it tightly around himself.

'Hey, Sherlock, are you home?' he asked as he padded out into the kitchen. Sherlock wasn't there and his coat wasn't on its hook by the door either. John figured he had gone to the Yard to work on the case, possibly Saint Bart's to examine the bodies. He went back to Sherlock's room to pull his mobile from his jeans and dialed Greg's number.

'John! Good morning! Did you sleep well?' Greg's voice chuckled. John merely sighed and ignored the question.

'Is Sherlock there? He's not at the flat and I was just wondering if he was working with you?'

'No. Sorry mate, he's not here. I figured after how quickly you two dashed out yesterday that you would be a little more... preoccupied.' Greg coughed slightly before continuing. 'He might be at Bart's, but have you tried calling him?'

John slapped a palm to his forehead. _Idiot! You have your fucking mobile and you call __**Greg **__first instead of __**Sherlock?**_

'I'm taking your silence as a no,' Greg said. 'Call him, and if he doesn't answer for a while call me back. He seemed pretty shaken up yesterday.'

'Yeah Greg, thanks,' John said, hanging up quickly. He hit speed dial 1 and let the phone ring and ring and ring. Sherlock wasn't answering. If John called he always answered. _Always_. Now John was scared. He didn't really want to call Greg back so soon, and he didn't want to call Mycroft at all. He was going to give Sherlock the benefit of the doubt and give him time to come home before dinner. If he wasn't home by then he would call Greg and they would figure something out. He sighed, placed his mobile in the dressing gown's pocket, and made himself some breakfast, hoping Sherlock was alright.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock held a damp cloth to Mycroft's head wound. 'I'm truly sorry that you had to get caught up in this. I never meant for you to get hurt.'

'It's quite alright,' the government official grunted through gritted teeth. 'It is I who should apologize.'

Sherlock's brow creased. 'Why do you say that?'

'Because I led him to you,' the elder Holmes brother's voice wavered.

'What?' He swallowed down hard. He couldn't quite believe it.

'I was trying to pry some very important information from him and he would only talk if I gave information in return.'

Sherlock shook his head and pressed a little harder than necessary on Mycroft's head wound. He hissed, inhaling sharply.

'I am sorry. I didn't think. I never dreamt that—'

'Leave your explanations Mycroft,' Sherlock spat angrily. 'So this is why you were so keen to help. You made a mistake and wanted to make it up to me by playing the hero.'

'No, you're my brother. I wanted to help,' Mycroft sighed tiredly.

Sherlock nodded. 'Yes well, it's a little too late to start playing happy families now.'

It was then that Sherlock became aware of a faint buzzing in his trench coat pocket. Reaching inside he realized that it was John trying to call him and not for the first time either. He had missed several calls from his flatmate.

His first instinct was to panic but his cold and logical brain told him to answer the phone.

'Hello?' He swallowed down on a lump in his throat as he waited for a reply.

'Sherlock! Thank God!' John sighed in relief. He clutched a hand to his chest and forced himself to breathe, closing his eyes as Sherlock's cool voice spun around in his mind. 'I've been trying to reach you for hours. I figured you were either at the Yard or Bart's working on the case. So, where are you that it took you so long to answer your phone?'

'Erm yes, sorry. I was at Saint Bart's examining the bodies from the latest case,' Sherlock lied coolly. 'I was rather preoccupied. I'll be back soon.'

'Alright,' John sighed, relief flooding his bones. He wasn't sure if Sherlock was lying to him again or if he had really gone to Saint Bart's but he was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. He hummed into the phone and decided to try to hurry Sherlock home with a bit of seduction.

'When I woke up I was rather disappointed you weren't here in bed with me,' he said into the receiver. 'I was looking forward to some rather passionate morning sex. But it's fine now. I've been lounging in your pajama clothes all day, couldn't be bothered to get properly dressed. At first it was your pajamas and dressing gown, but then the clothes got too hot so I took off the shirt. Then I kept tripping over the pant legs, so I took those off too. Can you guess what I'm wearing now, Sherlock?' He was panting into the phone, his own words turning himself on. 'I am sitting in your chair wearing nothing but your blue dressing gown and the silk feels fantastic against my bare skin.' He moaned into the phone as his hand danced along his inner thigh, teasing himself on. 'Hurry home so I can _ravish_ you.'

Sherlock bit his lip hungrily. 'I will most definitely ravish you.' When he hung up Mycroft was grinning.

'Oh shut up,' Sherlock growled.

'I presume a congratulations is in order.'

'You presume correctly.'

John grinned in triumph. He sat his phone on the arm of Sherlock's chair and continued to stroke small circles on his thighs. Knowing Sherlock and how he was at the morgue he'd be at least another hour, maybe more. But with the promise of a thorough ravishing in the future he'd probably try to be home sooner. John hummed at the prospect and gripped his thighs tightly, just enough pain to help his erection wane but not kill it completely.

'Hurry home, Sherlock,' he whispered to the flat.

Sherlock stood to his feet and placed a gentle kiss to Mycroft's head. 'Take care of yourself.'

'You're not angry with me?'

'Of course I am,' Sherlock retorted. 'But that doesn't mean I don't worry about you.'

'He's really softened you up,' Mycroft stated, not even having to say who he was.

'Is that a bad thing?' Sherlock quizzed.

'Not entirely no. Love suits you brother.'

Sherlock opened his mouth to say something but then decided not to.

'Goodbye Mycroft.' He curtly ended their talk. 'We will talk soon about putting some strong security in place for John.'

'Yes, very well. Enjoy ravishing our famous blogger for me.'

Sherlock blushed bright red. 'If you want to use that mouth of yours for something more useful than making jibes at me try eating that chocolate cake that you've secretly stashed away.' He smirked, strolling away with at least a little bit of dignity.

Instead of turning himself on further John had fallen asleep in Sherlock's chair. He had been awake and stressing over Sherlock's abrupt absence for hours and his mind suddenly decided that since it knew Sherlock was safe it was alright to relax and take a break. He began dreaming of running after Sherlock again but this time he was able to catch up and tackle him to the ground, kissing him soundly until Sherlock began laughing against his lips. He smiled in his sleep.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock stood outside the flat puffing on what was his third cigarette. It wasn't often that he smoked but when he did he did it in excess. It was his rather feeble attempt to calm himself down and to an extent it really did help de-stress his mind. As he walked up into the flat he wrinkled up his nose. He smelt terrible. It was the smell akin to a pub. He just hoped John wouldn't notice.

When Sherlock entered the flat he couldn't help but chuckle at the sight of John fast asleep in his chair. John shifted in the chair. He was dreaming about the fangirls again, about how they thought he was 'cute and adorable' like a hedgehog or a Hobbit. He wasn't cute and adorable god dammit! He was a soldier! He'd _killed_ people, he'd brought people back to life, and he'd been _shot_ for his efforts. He wasn't cute and adorable. He wasn't.

'I'm not a Hobbit,' he mumbled in his sleep, his head turning from side to side. 'Mm not.'

Sherlock sniggered and knelt down besides the sleeping John. 'Yes you are,' he cooed softly. 'You're my little Hobbit.'

There was a new voice in his dream. It wasn't taunting like the other voices in his dream. This one was deeper, soothing, and one he would be able to recognize anywhere. His lip twitched in the resemblance of a smile and he hummed, his mind trying to break free of sleep. John turned toward the voice, his eyes opening slightly. He smiled fully when he recognized Sherlock's form, the great coat on his shoulders and the scarf (_that scarf_) around his neck. He reached out and snaked a hand around Sherlock's shoulders, up his neck, and into his hair, pulling his face closer. He smelled strongly of cigarettes but John was too tired to care at the moment.

'Missed you,' John whispered, still not truly awake.

'I missed you too,' Sherlock replied softly. He then found himself torn between kissing the living daylights out of the man and pulling away. Kissing him was probably an incredibly bad idea. If John didn't work it out on his own a kiss would surely be the tell tale sign that Sherlock had been smoking. He didn't want that. It would cause John to worry. John always worried when he smoked. In the end he settled for a light, somewhat clumsy kiss on John's forehead. John huffed in protest and pouted. He clutched at Sherlock's hair and tried to pull him down for a real kiss.

'John I'm really not sure that—' Sherlock's sentence was cut off by John's lips. He froze and grimaced as he awaited John's reaction. John mashed his lips with Sherlock's, humming at the contact. His tongue darted out to taste Sherlock's lips, but something was off. They didn't taste right. He wrinkled his nose in distaste and pulled away.

'You've been smoking,' he said bluntly. It wasn't meant to be accusatory but concerned. Sherlock only ever smoked when he was nervous these days, so the taste and smell were cause for concern.

Sherlock sighed. 'Yes, but only one. It's nothing for you to worry about.' _**More**__ lies, Sherlock? _The slightly uneasy man growled at the voice in his head and tapped his fingers against his skull slowly in attempt to rid himself of it. Oh how he hated himself for lying. The lies were beginning to pile up now and his head was beginning to pound. John nodded, resting his forehead against Sherlock's, his hand still gripping Sherlock's hair.

'This case is different, isn't it?'

Sherlock zoned out for a few moments, his eyes unfocused, his jaw taught with the tension building up within him. He exhaled and swallowed down hard. 'It's a little trickier than most, yes.' He finally managed to move his mouth to speak but the words sounded addled with angst and he instantly flinched at his own emotion spilling out into the already tense atmosphere.

John squeezed the back of Sherlock's neck gently. 'Sounds like you need a distraction,' he murmured. He grabbed Sherlock's other hand by the wrist and placed it on his inner thigh, the dressing gown's material falling away oh so subtly. 'May I distract the great Sherlock Holmes?'

Sherlock shook his head and laughed. 'Oh John,' he sighed happily, dropping himself onto the inviting lap that awaited him. John smiled and chuckled, his hands exploring all over under Sherlock's great coat before coming to rest on his ample bum cheeks. John rubbed his hands over Sherlock's bum soothingly as it was probably still rather sore.

'How do you feel, Sherlock?' John moaned, gently groping a bum cheek in each hand as he thrust his hips upwards.

How did he feel? 'Horny, stressed, emotional, and beyond all exhausted,' he replied truthfully. Despite feeling as though he wanted to collapse in a heap on their bed he began bucking fast and hard against John. John moaned and rocked against Sherlock, his hands squeezing Sherlock's bum tightly.

'Let me treat you to something special, Sherlock,' John breathed in his friend's ear. 'Let me show you how much I appreciate you. Let me distract you from the case.'

'Ooh,' Sherlock moaned heavily, his cock throbbing within its cage. He rubbed himself frantically against John's erection. John gasped and squeezed Sherlock's bum harder, pulling him closer. God Sherlock's trousers felt fantastic on his erection. But this wasn't about John. This was about Sherlock. John ran his hands up Sherlock's back onto his shoulders. He gripped tight and pushed him away, both men letting out a noise akin to a whimper. But John knew what he was doing. He quickly switched their positions so that Sherlock was sitting in the chair and John was straddling his body.

'This is for working so hard on the case, and to distract you from it,' he said, sliding down Sherlock's body until his knees hit the floor. He pushed Sherlock's legs apart and settled between them, pulling Sherlock closer until his bum was just off the edge of the chair. John ran his hands lightly up and down Sherlock's thighs before he began mouthing at his clothed erection.

Sherlock melted. 'Yes!' he exclaimed, thrusting upwards to his heart's content. The warmth on his arousal made his whole body shudder. John gripped Sherlock's thighs tightly as he sucked on one of Sherlock's balls through his trousers. He then licked his way up Sherlock's shaft before he couldn't ignore his need for Sherlock's cock in his mouth any longer.

His fingers flew to the button of Sherlock's trousers, struggling slightly in his lustful haze before getting them undone and tearing them down until they rested around Sherlock's ankles. He nearly moaned in relief as his gaze fell on Sherlock's gorgeous erection, standing at attention like the good little soldier it was.

John grasped the base and ran his tongue up the length, lapping at the sensitive glans. He swirled his tongue around the head, lapping up the bead of pre-cum that had formed. He watched Sherlock with rapt attention as he sucked just the head into his mouth. Sherlock whimpered and felt his whole body quiver. He closed his eyes and began puffing out huge breaths.

He let himself relax into the fantastic sensation. However as he started to relax everything that he'd been suppressing within himself began to rise to the surface. Every lie he had to tell, every emotion that he had to hide, all the events that had happened. His ragged breaths started to sound like sobs, his quivering turned into him trembling in terror, and hot tears pricked behind his closed eyelids.

John saw Sherlock's rather quick transformation from being so aroused he was practically melting in his chair into a quivering emotional mess, and not in a good way. John narrowed his eyes and sucked rather harshly on Sherlock's cock before he let it slide from his mouth in contempt.

'Alright! That is it!' he shouted. 'I am sick and tired of playing this game. Of us dancing around each other, pretending that nothing is wrong when we _both_ know that something is _very_ wrong here!' John pulled Sherlock's trousers back up harshly as yelling at Sherlock while his cock was hanging out made the serious situation almost silly. _Almost._

'I know that the bodies from the triple homicide were supposed to represent me, Sherlock. I know that you believe Moriarty is after me, and quite frankly I believe he is too. After all, he did say he was going to burn the heart out of you, and I am now your heart and soul. I _know_ I'm in danger, I _know_ you went to Mycroft for help, and I also know you had more than one cigarette before you came home. You wouldn't reek so badly if you really _had_ had just one.'

John stood up and began pacing, drawing the dressing gown around himself. 'I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, that you would tell me in time, but I just can't take it anymore! I know you were trying to protect me, to keep me safe from the knowledge that I was in danger, but you can't keep something like that from me! If my life is in danger I think I have a right to know! We are partners, Sherlock, in every sense of the word. Friends, lovers, confidants, and all we have is each other. If I were to lose you, or you to lose me, life would be incredibly dull and boring in comparison. I trust you with my life, Sherlock. So I'm asking you to do the same for me. Trust me not to go do something stupid when my life is being threatened. Trust me to be cool under pressure. And trust me to be the voice of reason in times of crises. I love you with all my heart and I know you feel the same, but I'm asking you to trust me the way I trust you.'

He paused and took a deep breath. He was shaking, his heart pounded harshly in his chest, and his left hand trembled at his side.

'And don't you _dare_ tell me that I shouldn't be concerned about my own fucking life. It is _my_ life, Sherlock. I have allowed you into it but that does _not_ mean you have permission to control it or decide what I should and should not know about it.' He turned back to look at Sherlock, his best friend, tears welling in his eyes and a few falling down his cheeks.

'You're all I have, Sherlock,' he said in a smaller voice, the tears flowing freely now. 'And I know for a fact that I am all you have as well. So please, don't hide something like this from me again. Maybe I can help, maybe I can prevent an attack on my life simply by knowing there's a threat, maybe I can even hurt the person before he or she hurts me. Just, please, don't hide something so important from me again.'

Sherlock bolted upright and strode over to John. By this point he was bright red in fury. He was furious at the world. He was furious at himself. He was furious at John. He stood there staring so intensely at John that it seemed the older man shivered in terror. He stomped his foot in anger.

'You don't understand!' he yelled. 'I thought you were different! I thought you understood.' And with that Sherlock fled from the building, tears rippling down his face, feeling suddenly small and childlike.

'Sherlock!' John yelled after him, but the man was already down the stairs and out of the building. John screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed. He clawed at his hair, his face, and then he started throwing random objects across the flat. He finally crumpled in on himself, his knees giving out, falling to the floor in a heap. He drew his knees into his chest and allowed himself to cry. He sobbed into Sherlock's dressing gown which only made him sob harder as it smelled like him and reminded him of how infuriating the man could be but he loved him god dammit.

He heard the stairs creek but thought nothing of it. _If Sherlock is going to find me then let him find me in the emotional wreck I am. I don't even want to pretend anymore, _John thought to himself. The footsteps ascended the stairs and stopped just outside the door, assessing the room and the broken man lying on the floor. Before John could think of a nasty remark, a cold and familiar voice spoke and John froze where he lay.

'Well, that was easier than I thought it would be,' the voice said. John could hear the grin. 'I was going to have my boys create a diversion to separate you two. Knowing Sherly, he would want to leave his pet at home, especially after he got my warnings. But you two beat me to it. And he looked positively wrecked. What did you say to him?'

John didn't answer. He was frozen with fear. He didn't want to look up. That would make it real.

'The Iceman really has the most incompetent of security measures. It took my sniper only five minutes to take them all out.' He moved about the room, surveying all there was to see before stopping at John's frozen figure on the ground. He knelt down and John couldn't stop his gaze from flickering to look at the man kneeling over him.

'Hello again Johnny Boy. How I've missed you,' James Moriarty said with a wicked grin.

* * *

Bonus Moriarty provided by yours truly. I apologise for the cliffhanger, but I really couldn't resist. Please don't kill me. Resolution next chapter, I promise. And maybe, since this chapter is so short, I might post the next one sooner. Like by Thursday. Have a nice week!

TSA + IB


	8. Beaten and Broken

So I decided to update this a day early. It's raining and I was bored, so I decided to share some angst.

**InvisibleBlade:** Sherlock

**Me:** John, Lestrade, random nursing staff

**Shared:** Moriarty

_Warnings for this chapter: bondage (not the good kind), Moriarty (he's a warning all on his own), sorta graphic depictions of violence, blow jobs while in hospital_

* * *

Chapter 8 – Beaten and Broken

Sherlock ran and ran, his legs never faltering. He wasn't quite sure where he was running to but he knew that he had to get away from the suddenly too loud world. The world was usually so boring, so dull and quiet. However now it was far from it. Its noises screamed in Sherlock's ears and he wasn't sure just how much of the loud that he could take. Everyone sounded so happy with their lives. _It's not fair_, he thought spitefully. It came to him as a relief when he found a dark and peaceful back alleyway. He soon found himself collapsing against a brick wall. He pressed his cheek to the cool bricks and slowly let the anger within him spiral out into the London air.

'I'm sorry, John,' he whispered, barely recognising his voice. 'I'm so sorry.'

It was no use. His lover was on the other side of London, and his apology was far too late. Guilt twisted in his stomach. He shouldn't have to have anything to apologize for. Why was it that he had reacted in such a reckless way? Why couldn't he face his feelings as normal people did?

He let out a muffled groan as he felt his phone buzzing once more. He picked up his phone, secretly hoping it was John. His heart plunged in disappointment within its cage as he saw that it wasn't John but Lestrade. With an infuriated sigh he answered the phone. 'Hello.'

'Sherlock, this is a bit awkward but I need to ask you to turn yourself in to the Yard.' Lestrade's voice sounded strained.

'You have new evidence that you need me to look at,' Sherlock stated.

'Not as such.' Lestrade's reply was weak.

'Not as such? What is that supposed to mean?' Sherlock snapped impatiently down the phone.

'We have new evidence but we don't need you to come into the Yard to inspect it.' There was a small silence from the other end of the line. 'Sherlock, this evidence suggests that you had a part to play in the murders.'

Sherlock's world stopped.

'Sherlock, hello? Where are you? Are you at the flat? Is John with you? Don't do anything drastic.'

'I wouldn't hurt him!' Sherlock roared.

'I never said you would but if this evidence is correct, and if what Donovan has explained to me about the similarities between the young men that were killed and John I can only worry for his safety.'

'You believe the evidence,' Sherlock croaked, a lump rising in his throat.

'I don't know what to believe,' Lestrade replied. 'Just turn yourself in. I'm sure we can work something out.'

'That's what he'd want,' Sherlock hissed.

'Who?'

'_Moriarty,_' Sherlock ground out. 'That is exactly what he wants.' And with that Sherlock hung up the phone.

He cradled himself tightly. His brother was a traitor. His lover now detested him for lying. The Yard and soon the whole world would think he was a murderer.

He for once really didn't know what to do. He just cried because that was the only thing his body allowed him to do.

**…::-::…**

John couldn't speak. Not that he didn't want to; there were a million questions buzzing around in his head, he just couldn't find his voice to ask them. Moriarty simply grinned down at him. There was a new set of footsteps ascending the stairs and John minutely turned his head to see the sniper entering the room. Moriarty didn't even acknowledge the man's presence.

'Seb, be a dear and fetch the restraints,' the consulting criminal grinned wickedly at the doctor. 'Johnny and I here need to have a proper chat. Preferably without him interrupting this time.'

The man–Seb?–nodded and dropped a large bag at his feet. He rummaged through it and pulled out what appeared to be a set of leather belts and cuffs. John gulped and watched as the sniper handed Moriarty the straps, then returned to the door to keep watch.

'Sit up, Johnny Boy,' Moriarty ordered. 'You'll want to be comfortable for this portion.' John hesitated and got a belt to the face for it.

'I said, _sit up_,' Moriarty ground out. John obeyed that time, holding tightly to the dressing gown that was the only thing keeping his dignity intact. Moriarty strapped one of the cuffs around John's ankles and another around each of his wrists, pinning his arms behind his back.

'Have a seat, John,' Moriarty smirked as he all but shoved John into his chair. Moriarty sat across from him in Sherlock's. They didn't do anything except stare at one another for quite a while.

'Why are you doing this?' John finally asked, his voice sounding feeble and weak. Moriarty actually had the gall to laugh.

'_Why? _You want to know _why? _Seb, he wants to know why!' Moriarty laughed. 'Oh Johnny Boy, you don't know me at all do you?'

'No, and I never want to.'

'Tut tut, Johnny. How rude to talk to your guest in such a way.'

'You are no guest here, and you are _not_ welcome in my home,' John spat. Then he actually spat in Moriarty's face. He simply wiped away the glob of saliva from his cheek but glared daggers at John when he flicked it onto the floor.

'The gag, Seb.'

Before John knew it a cloth was being forced between his teeth and tied tightly around his head.

'And tie him to his chair. Don't want him leaping up any time soon.'

Seb tied John to the chair with a thick length of rope. It bit into his skin but John grit his teeth and bared it.

'So, Johnny, still want to know why?' John didn't answer. 'Why not?' Jim smiled. 'Because I was bored. Because I wanted to end the two of you, but slowly, intimately, and in every way I know you fear. Is that reason enough?'

John still didn't answer, just swallowed loudly against the gag.

'Well now, let's get Sherly back here, shall we? Unless, of course, he's tied up at the Yard.' Jim smirked and plucked John's mobile from the pocket of the dressing gown. 'I hope you don't mind. Speed dial one, I presume?' He didn't wait for a reply, just hit the number and hit talk, a confident smirk on his lips.

Sherlock was aware that his phone was buzzing again. He lifted his head upwards with a great deal of difficulty. His whole body felt numb and too heavy to lift. He pulled his phone up to his eyes and was almost physically sick when he read the caller ID.

'Moriarty,' he said in a cold greeting.

'Hello Sherly baby.' The voice was teasing, mocking him.

'What do you want?' he growled back.

'Now, now. You better keep a firm hold of that temper of yours,' the voice tutted.

'Or what?' Sherlock questioned.

'Keep a hold of your temper or your little pet will die.'

'You've got John?' Sherlock spluttered. 'Let me speak to him.'

'I'm afraid he's rather tied up at the moment.' There was laughter, loud and outrageously humour-filled laughter.

'What do you want from me?' Sherlock asked, slowly feeling any power play he may have had on Moriarty slip through his fingers like sand.

'I want you to run,' Moriarty ordered.

'I'm sorry?' Sherlock murmured, deeply confused.

'You heard me. I want you to run all the way back to your flat. You have half an hour to be here. If you're late by so much as one minute your darling Johnny Boy will die.' There was a pause. 'Which is a shame. He's rather pretty. I hate killing the pretty ones.'

'Half an hour!' Sherlock exclaimed. 'I'm on the other side of London.'

'What a shame. Seb, after five shoot our little prize winning beauty.' Moriarty then began to count. 'One, two, three—'

'Alright! I'll be there!' Sherlock screamed on the number three.

'Glad to hear it.'

There was a crackle and then silence and then came the running, and the fear flooding through his veins.

Moriarty hit END on John's phone and tossed it onto the sofa.

'Your owner is on his way,' he grinned maniacally. 'Let's hope he gets here within the time limit. I would hate to kill you. It would be such a waste.' He stroked a hand through John's hair and John flinched back, breathing rapidly through his nose from the unwanted touch. He tried to snarl but it came out as more of a gurgle as so much saliva had collected in his mouth.

'Now, now Jonathan, you hurt my feelings,' Moriarty pouted. John tried to lunge forward at Moriarty's use of his full name. Only Sherlock got to call him that! Moriarty didn't even flinch at John's feeble attempt at intimidation. He just smirked and walked into the kitchen, turning on the electric kettle and rummaging through the cabinets until he found the rather impressive collection of tea.

My, my. You boys certainly have quite the assortment!' Moriarty grinned. He rifled through them until he came across a rather interesting stash hidden in the back. 'Oh. My. God.' John groaned, knowing what Moriarty had found.

'What are these, Johnny Boy?' Moriarty appeared behind John, holding a bag of tea in front of him for his scrutiny. John groaned in humiliation as a bag of John Watson tea appeared in front of him. 'There are more like this too. Sherlock Holmes, Red Pants, Mycroft, Lestrade, and multiple Doctor Who flavors. But _Watson_ flavored tea? You bought tea that was based on yourself? Good god, I need to know what you taste like.'

John shuddered at the subtle innuendo laced in that statement. Moriarty disappeared again and poured himself a cup of John Watson tea, snickering the entire time. He sat down in Sherlock's chair again and very audibly sipped his tea, smirking across at John the entire time.

Sherlock ran faster than he had ever done before, shoving past the irritatingly slow people around him. His lungs were burning with exhaustion but he told himself that he couldn't stop, that he wouldn't stop.

When he finally came across the flat he thundered up the stairs, not really caring if it was a trap, just wanting to get to John as quickly as possible. When he sped into the flat he was instantly grabbed hold of by a large, muscular man. He was one of Moriarty's snipers, Sherlock presumed.

'Good boy Seb. He was cutting it a little bit close, don't you think?' Jim's voice washed over him like poison. 'Teach him a little lesson Seb.'

Sherlock barely had time to register John, who was gagged up and writhing on his chair, before he was tossed onto the floor like a ragdoll. He couldn't fight the man because he was too exhausted from running and besides, he was twice Sherlock's size. So he just lay there, whimpering as he took the punches.

John screamed against his gag, straining against his restraints. Sherlock was just lying there taking blow after blow from Moriarty's henchman. He didn't want to watch it, let alone listen to it, but if he closed his eyes it only made the noises worse. So he was forced to sit and stare at Moriarty who was calmly sipping at his tea as he watched Seb punch Sherlock into a bloody pulp.

Sherlock had long ago stopped screaming. He hardly registered the blows. He lay there, crumpled and bleeding out. There were probably quite a few bones in his body that were broken and, considering the floor was now painted red, he assumed he'd lost a lot of blood. He wished that he was stronger, that he could fight against Moriarty's henchman, but he was both emotionally and physically drained, and the battering he had taken so far had broken him. He glanced up at John through his matted curls, his vision now red with the blood dripping from a likely head wound he had received during his beating, but he could still see how terrified his lover was.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered. 'I'm so, so sorry.'

John watched Sherlock take the blows, blood pooling on the floor and gathering in his great coat. His nose looked broken, he probably had some bruised and broken ribs, and his mouth was bleeding profusely. John was horrified that Sherlock was going to be beaten to death but he couldn't scream anymore. His voice had gone hoarse from screaming and he instead had begun to cry. The tears flowed freely from his eyes as he watched Sherlock take blow after blow, his body going limp but the blows kept coming. Why wouldn't Moriarty end it?

'That's enough, Seb,' the man in question said suddenly, holding up a hand to stop his henchman's assault. Seb stopped with his fist in the air, gripping Sherlock by his shirt collar. Sherlock was limp in his grasp and was barely conscious, gasping for breath. Moriarty stood up and went over to the broken man, surveying the damage before he deemed it enough.

'Put him in his chair. Might as well make him comfortable in what time he has left. And then the two lovebirds can see each other before it all ends,' Moriarty grinned. Seb gripped Sherlock's shirt with both hands and hauled him up, depositing him in the chair Moriarty had vacated rather roughly. John couldn't tear his eyes away from Sherlock. He looked like shit and he wanted to get him to the hospital as soon as possible, but that was clearly out of the question. And if Moriarty was planning on killing them today it would be rather pointless anyway.

Sherlock's head lolled onto his chest. His breaths were shallow and his internal organs felt as though they were caving in on each other. He let out a small pitiful moan as he stared vacantly at John, his eyes dark with pain and anger.

'So you're going to just beat us up to death?' He took a deep, painful breath. 'I expected so much more of you.'

Jim snorted. 'Don't be so ridiculous.' His lips pulled back into a vicious grin. 'I'm going to set you up for a fall Sherlock.' He strode with purpose over to Sherlock, grabbing a bright shining apple and rolling it gleefully in his hands. Sherlock frowned, pursing his lips together in confusion. 'It's ok. There's no need to be frightened. Falling is just like flying.' He whistled and made a low sweeping noise like a bomb hitting the ground. 'Except it has a far more permanent destination.'

'I don't like riddles,' Sherlock hissed.

'Well, learn to!' Moriarty roared, his spit flying onto Sherlock's skin.

The detective groaned and slid down in his chair, feeling weaker by the second. 'What now Moriarty? What's the next step you're going to take on the chessboard?'

'Telling you would ruin the surprise,' Moriarty grinned, taking a large bite out of the apple. 'And I want you to be surprised when you fall. I want you to have genuine emotion on your face, running through your veins.' He took out a pocket knife and began carving in the apple. He was working methodically, like he was creating an intricate work of art. When he spoke again it felt more sinister, like the words had a greater purpose than the ones before.

'And it will start very soon, Sherlock. The fall. Because I owe you a fall, Sherlock. I. _Owe._ You.' He stuck the knife into the apple and set it down on the arm of Sherlock's chair. He straightened his suit and moved to the door.

'Well, I'd better be off. So nice to have had a proper chat. Seb, untie Johnny Boy for me but leave the gag. I rather like him that way.' He grinned and turned to Sherlock as Seb began freeing John from his bonds. 'You'll be hearing from me Sherlock Holmes.'

And then he was gone, his henchman following soon behind.

John just sat in his chair for what seemed like hours as he tried and failed to calm himself down. When he glanced back at Sherlock he jumped into soldier mode and became the army surgeon once again.

He leapt to his feet, tearing the gag from his mouth and knelt by Sherlock's side. He took his pulse and any other vital signs he could without hurting the man, all of which told him what he already knew: Sherlock had internal bleeding, broken and bruised ribs, a broken nose, and a sprained jaw (if he was lucky). He needed to be taken to a hospital, and soon.

'Sherlock, don't move. I'm going to be right back and I'm going to call Greg and I'm going to get you to the hospital.'

He dashed upstairs before the broken man could protest, hoping he would cooperate, and hastily pulled on the first pair of jeans and shirt that he found. He ran back downstairs and searched for his mobile, found it on the sofa, dialed Greg's number and hopped from foot to foot waiting for him to answer.

'Stay with me, Sherlock,' he said loud enough for Sherlock to hear. 'Don't you dare leave me now. Stay with me.'

'No,' Sherlock spluttered weakly. 'You can't call Lestrade. You just can't.' Who knew what investigation Scotland Yard would put him under once he was recovered from his injuries? His eyes were fluttering shut as his body was taken under by his pain and his fatigue. 'Please - John - just–' His jaw fell slack and his eyes rolled into the back of his skull as darkness ripped him from reality.

'Sherlock? Sherlock!' John cried, reaching out for him before he remembered how injured he was.

'John?' Lestrade said from over the phone. When had he answered? John couldn't remember him answering.

'Lestrade I need you to get an ambulance over here now!' John cried into the phone.

'What? Why? What's going on? Did Sherlock—'

'JUST GET IT HERE!' John screamed before he hung up and covered his face in his hands, crying into them.

'Sherlock, you don't get to leave me like this. You are a fighter, so fight! Don't let Moriarty win! Live, Sherlock. Please. For me. Please. I love you. I love you so much and I can't lose you. You're all I have. Just stay with me Sherlock. Stay with me.'

Sherlock grunted unconsciously. 'Sentimental fool,' he mumbled quietly.

'Yes, that's exactly what I am,' John told the unconscious man. 'But I don't care. I would rather be a sentimental fool than a machine!' He could hear the ambulance sirens in the distance, glad Greg worked so quickly for them without truly getting answers. The paramedics rushed upstairs and past John when they saw the unconscious and bloodied man sat on the chair.

'Be careful,' John pleaded. 'He's got some internal bleeding and cracked and broken ribs. Please be gentle with him.'

'Sir, we know what we're doing,' one assured him.

'So do I,' John bit back. 'I went to medical school, I joined the Queen's Army, I sewed people back together on the front line, and I think I should know what internal bleeding looks like.' The paramedics just nodded and loaded Sherlock onto the stretcher, securing him onto it. John followed behind, scrambling into the back of the ambulance before they could shut him out.

Sherlock flat lined on the way to the hospital but John, ever in soldier mode in a crisis, brought him back to a steady rhythm. It was easier to look at Sherlock if he pretended it wasn't Sherlock, that he was just another young kid on the line who needed to survive so he could get back to his girl. But it never lasted for long, the illusion, and when John would look at his friend's blood on his hands he would suck in a breath and close his eyes, trying not to pass out.

'You better live from this you stupid selfish bastard,' John said to nobody in particular. 'Because if you don't I don't know what I'd do. If you somehow make it through this, if you survive and recover to your full strength, I'll kiss you so hard you can't breathe and I'll suffocate you with love. Or with a pillow. Bloody idiot.' There was a small smile on his lips despite his murderous words.

When they finally reached the hospital Sherlock was wheeled off to emergency surgery. John had half a mind to tell them not to cut the Belstaff coat, but he was swarmed by nurses who wanted to collect samples of the blood from his hands and clean him up.

He was in the surgery waiting room, clean of blood, a cheap cup of coffee in his hands, when Greg showed up. They merely nodded at one another, neither wanting to speak. Greg was there for John should things go sour. John was there for Sherlock but his heart held revenge. Moriarty and his henchman would pay for what they did today. If it was the last thing he ever did, he would make them pay.

**…::-::…**

Pain. That was what Sherlock felt as he next awoke. Sherlock was finely tuned to his body and he could tell that he had several drugs pumping their way through his veins. His eyelids flickered open. Someone was calling his name softly. A woman. A nurse. His sluggish mind slowly retracted the information as he studied the blurred outline.

Suddenly it all came back to him. Moriarty. John. Hospital.

'Jo—' he mumbled incoherently. 'I want John.'

'Shhh sweetheart. It'll be over soon. Then you can see him,' the nurse reassured him.

**…::-::…**

John glared at the floor, his eyes tracing the patterns in the carpet until he could draw them from memory. Greg was still there, working from his phone. He didn't want to leave John alone, not after the threat Moriarty left them both. John hadn't had to tell him much as Sherlock had mentioned the man in their phone call earlier. That, and with Sherlock in critical condition, Greg now knew who to believe.

Sherlock had been out of surgery for hours but the doctor had advised John to wait until Sherlock had regained full consciousness. Given Sherlock's resilience to most drugs John knew that wouldn't take as long as a normal patient. He had been pacing until Greg sat him down in a chair and held him there until John's muscles relaxed. That had been almost half a day ago. Greg had gone to get coffee and breakfast when a nurse appeared at John's side. She was holding a chart, probably Sherlock's vitals, and was smiling brightly.

'Are you Doctor Watson?' she asked.

'Yes. Yes, that's me,' John said, standing up so quickly the blood rushed to his head.

'I'm Donna, the RN on duty for Sherlock. Normally I would tell you about his recovery but seeing as you're a medical man yourself I didn't see any harm in letting you see for yourself.' She handed the chart over and John scanned through it quickly. Sherlock's vitals looked good, his white count was a little high, but he looked good.

'Can I see him now?' John asked softly, pleading with his eyes.

'Of course,' Donna smiled. 'He's been asking for you for hours now. But he would always fall back asleep as soon as we assured him that he could. Now that he's regained most of his consciousness I think it's safe for you two to see each other now.'

John could barely contain himself. Sherlock was OK and he was going to be able to see him. He sent Greg a quick message to let him know where he was and followed the nurse to the lift. She took him to the appropriate floor and led him to Sherlock's room.

He looked frail and weak in the hospital bed, hooked up to so many tubes and needles. But he was alive and that was all that mattered.

'Sherlock,' John sighed softly, his shoulders slumping in relief.

Sherlock's eyes fluttered open at the sound of John's voice. A lop sided smile wriggled across his features. He opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out. Instead he told John everything with his eyes. John sniffled and rushed to Sherlock's side. He gingerly took one of Sherlock's hands in his and pulled a stray curl off Sherlock's forehead so he could place a light kiss to it.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered, stroking a hand through Sherlock's hair. 'I'm so sorry. This happened because of me. If I had run after you this never would have happened. And I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry.'

John was outright sobbing now, clutching onto Sherlock's hand but trying not to squeeze too hard to hurt him. He buried his face in Sherlock's hair and sobbed.

'My fault,' Sherlock gasped, trying to find his voice again. 'All my fault. Don't cry.' Tears were forming in his own eyes as he watched John slowly turn into a sobbing mess. 'I was a heartless bastard. I lied. I ran away.'

John couldn't say anything else other than 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry' over and over as he cried into Sherlock's shoulder. He managed a 'Don't blame yourself' and a 'You were trying to protect me' before he went back to his sorry mantra.

'John!' Sherlock exclaimed, yelping as a bolt of pain tore through him. He coughed and struggled for breath. 'Please stop apologising,' he whispered softly as he rode through the inability to draw breath in his lungs. John jumped back when he heard Sherlock's heart monitor beep frantically. He had been holding Sherlock too tightly and had hurt him.

'Sorry,' he grumbled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. Then he wanted to apologize for apologizing as Sherlock had asked him to stop but held his tongue.

'Hey.' Sherlock lifted his fingertips to John's chin. 'I'm ok, really I am.' He exhaled loudly. 'Stop feeling so bad.'

'You look like death warmed over,' John sniffed. 'How could I not feel bad?' He avoided Sherlock's gaze, closing his eyes as more tears slid down his cheeks.

'I wish you would stop.' Sherlock trapped an escaped tear under the pad of his thumb and briskly wiped it away. 'You're breaking my heart.' Just as a confirmation his heart monitor skipped a few beats. John held Sherlock's hand on his cheek, reassuring himself that Sherlock was safe and alive albeit looking like shit.

'I don't want to break you any more than has already been done,' John choked out. 'I love you so much Sherlock, and it's killing me seeing you so broken like this. Now I know why you wanted to keep me from knowing about the danger I was in, and I'm sorry for trying to push you into telling me and then for flying off the handle and yelling at you and for... for...' He nuzzled his face into Sherlock's palm as he tried to hold back the tears. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'll trust your judgment from now on. I'm so sorry.'

'Oh John,' Sherlock sighed. 'It's fine. It's all fine.' He gently tugged at John's jaw. 'Could you perhaps kiss me now?' he asked, almost sounding like he was begging and, in a way, he supposed he was. John laughed weakly and wiped the tears from his eyes.

'I can do that, yeah,' he said softly, a small smile on his lips.

He moved closer to Sherlock's bedside and gently carded his fingers through Sherlock's curls. He rested his forehead against Sherlock's, his hand gripping the back of Sherlock's neck, tilting his head back slightly. His lips hovered over Sherlock's, nervous about hurting him but wanting to kiss him all the same. Sherlock's heart monitor started beeping faster and John smiled. He liked knowing that he could affect Sherlock like that, make his heart beat faster, skip a beat, just by being in his presence. He really did love him. And with that he brought his lips to Sherlock's in a very passionate kiss. Sherlock hummed against the kiss, moving his lips as fast as was humanly possible. He groaned as he had to pull away to breathe. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to do anything in fact.

'That was…' He licked his lips and chuckled. 'I can't even describe it.' John chuckled and cupped Sherlock's face in his hands, his thumbs skimming across his cheekbones. He kissed Sherlock again, softly that time, and pulled away but still held his face.

'I love you,' he whispered. 'I love you so much. And you may think me a sentimental fool but I don't care. I will continue to love you no matter what. Not even Moriarty could tear us apart.'

Sherlock frowned. 'I love you too but don't be so foolish as to think that Moriarty doesn't have the power to hurt us more. I think that he's coming back – bigger than ever.' John sighed and pressed his forehead against Sherlock's, clutching his face in his hands.

'Then we'll just have to prepare for the worst.' He kissed Sherlock again. He never wanted to stop kissing him. He never wanted to fight again. He broke away when Sherlock's heart started beating rapidly again as he didn't want the nursing staff to worry.

'And Mycroft needs to get better security. Moriarty said it took his sniper five minutes to take them all out.'

'It isn't Mycroft's fault.' Sherlock's voice broke. 'I went to talk to him about security and–' His lower lip trembled. 'He was hurt badly. Obviously not as hurt as me but still, you should have seen him John. I don't blame him for being a little distracted. We never really got around to talking about what measures needed to be taken.'

'Moriarty got to Mycroft?' John pulled back to look Sherlock in the eye. 'Is he alright? What happened?'

Sherlock nodded. 'He's fine. A little battered about and shaken up maybe. The last time I saw him he was grinning like the cat that got the cream after he overheard our phone call.'

The blood drained from John's face. He gulped audibly and he stared at Sherlock. 'Your brother knows about us? Like, "us" us?'

'Yes,' Sherlock sighed but smiled slightly. 'He seemed relatively happy for us in fact.'

'Of course he was. Just as long as he doesn't tell Queen and Country about our relationship I'll be fine,' John scoffed. 'It seems that everyone was under the impression that we were a couple from the very beginning. I just wish it hadn't taken us so long to actually become one.' John paused and grinned. 'Although I really enjoyed helping you work off that homemade Viagra. That was some of the best sex I'd ever had.'

'The sex was magnificent,' Sherlock giggled. 'Although, my cock still hurts even thinking about it. Saying that I had considered… Ah never mind.' He shook his head. 'You'd think I was being stupid.'

'Nothing you say could ever be considered stupid,' John grinned. 'Not with that brilliant mind of yours.' He stroked his thumbs across Sherlock's cheekbones again. 'What were you considering? You can tell me and I promise not to call it stupid.'

'That there may be a chance that I could make the drug I used safe for consumption without all the nasty side effects.' Sherlock smirked. 'Just the one desired one of course.'

'I was hoping you'd say that,' John grinned broadly. 'Got any ideas on where to start?'

'A pretty good idea, yes,' Sherlock purred. 'Might need to run a few experiments first though.'

'I volunteer as guinea pig,' John smirked. He pulled Sherlock into another kiss, his tongue licking at Sherlock's lower lip, asking permission. Sherlock let John in, kissing him with force despite his fatigue.

'I'm glad to hear that,' he mumbled, flicking his tongue in a greeting with John's. John's cock gave a lurch at Sherlock's tongue meeting his. He moaned and pulled Sherlock closer, ignoring the monitor that was beeping wildly. He sucked Sherlock's tongue into his mouth briefly before his own went to dance with it again. They were still attached at the lips, John's tongue down Sherlock's throat, when a nurse burst in and pried them apart. They were given a lecture on proper procedure after a patient had had major surgery but John didn't care. All he saw was the tent that had formed in Sherlock's sheets and he smirked, his eyes dark with desire. The nurse left quickly and John was instantly back at Sherlock's side.

'Sorry about that, I just want you so bad,' he breathed against Sherlock's lips. 'And I interrupted your blow job last time, and I want to treat you to another. Once you get out of here I'll pick back up where we left off. I promise.'

'Ignore her, stupid woman,' Sherlock sniffed, wrinkling up his nose. 'I was rather enjoying it.' He grinned but it soon faltered. 'How much longer do I have to be here?' He sighed in annoyance. 'I don't want you pried off me every time we kiss – or talk about doing other things.'

'I may be able to convince them to let you go early. I'm a doctor myself and you'll be in my care, so they may let us.' He brushed some hair off Sherlock's forehead. 'But I think it would be best for you to stay here for a couple days. Just to get your strength back.'

'I'm stronger than you might like to think,' Sherlock commented sharply.

John was about to say something in return when there were three light knocks at the door. 'Can I come in?'

Sherlock swallowed down hard and raised his eyes to meet the D.I.'s. 'Come to take me away Lestrade? Don't bother.'

'No, actually, I came to see how you were recovering,' the D.I. said, tracing the toe of his shoe along the floor. 'John explained everything, and with all that happened at the flat I now know who to believe. I... I'm sorry for doubting you.'

'As you can see I'm utterly fine Greg but thanks for your concern,' Sherlock snapped, not really wanting to have to deal with the D.I.

'Sherlock—' John warned, but Greg cut him off.

'No, John, it's alright,' the inspector sighed. 'I deserve whatever he throws at me. I knew in my gut that Sherlock wasn't responsible for the triple homicide, but I couldn't deny the evidence. But in light of recent events and an alibi provided by John of your whereabouts at the time of the murders, the charges have been dropped. We've got a look out for Moriarty and the "Seb" guy who assaulted you and kidnapped you. Well, held you against your will.'

Sherlock snorted. 'You'll never catch them. Moriarty is a spider of an ever expanding web. He won't show his head if he doesn't have to. He just has to pull a few strings and he probably has the entire criminal society in the palm of his hands. Even the best of men wouldn't be able to take down the whole of the web.'

He scanned his eyes over Lestrade, deducing because in the light of recent events it felt good to be able to put his brain to cold hard work, blocking out any irrelevant emotions to the moment. 'You've had a meeting with my brother,' he mused, lifting his eyebrow in a mild amount of amusement. He chuckled. 'I knew he had chocolate cake. I suppose he made you eat it too. That way he felt like he was obliged to break his diet.' His eyebrows bunched together. 'How is he holding up? How's the head?' he questioned softly.

Lestrade looked down at the crumbs on his jacket that Sherlock had clearly spotted.

'Your brother is fine,' he stated. 'A bit battered and bruised, but fine all the same. His head wound needed a few stitches but nothing critical. And after an experience like that I think he deserved that chocolate cake.'

He paused, going over Sherlock's words in his head. 'What makes you say we couldn't find Moriarty? You may think us incompetent but we got along fine without you before you turned up. Yes, our solved cases percentage has gone up since you started helping, but we were – never mind. If you say we can't find him then I know we can't either. Even _I_ think our officers are idiots sometimes.'

'Don't worry. Stupidity is a common flaw of most human beings,' Sherlock grinned a little cheekily at Lestrade. 'You're not that bad though. You just don't observe in the proper manner.' That was as close as a compliment that Lestrade was going to get from Sherlock, but still it seemed to please the other man.

He winced a little uneasily as he suddenly felt a sharp and unexpected pain ebbing in his side. The drugs he was on were clearly no longer working. He'd been given the normal dosage for a male of his age, height, and weight but Sherlock Holmes wasn't normal. After years of experimenting with homemade drugs he was easily resistant to most drugs. He moaned loudly as the pain seemed to intensify within seconds.

'John can you get them to top me off? The strong stuff this time,' he pleaded softly, removing his eyes from Lestrade for a moment. John sprang into action, hitting the nurse's call button. He quickly explained the situation and the nurse dashed off to get a stronger dose. She returned within moments and hooked up the new bag, making sure it made it into Sherlock's bloodstream before she left.

'Well, it would seem you're in good hands,' Greg said. 'I'll be off doing paperwork, clearing your name from the case. Here's to a quick recovery.' He waved to Sherlock and John and closed the door behind him.

'So how're the new drugs treating you?' John asked, carding his fingers through Sherlock's hair. 'Feeling better?'

'As better as I possibly can in this situation,' Sherlock whispered sleepily. 'I hope you don't mind but I'm probably going to kip for a while. You should do the same. You look shattered.'

'Didn't sleep a wink at all while you were in surgery,' John yawned, trying to hold back the exhaustion. 'And yeah, you should probably get some rest. You look pretty beat up.' It took John a moment to realise his choice of words and he blushed crimson.

'Sorry! Sorry! Poor choice of words. Oh god, I'm sorry,' he apologised quickly. He hung his head until his forehead touched Sherlock's again. 'Sorry.'

He placed a light kiss to Sherlock's forehead. 'Maybe I can bring you home tomorrow. Depending on how you feel and whatnot. I'm not making any promises but I'll see what I can do.' He kissed Sherlock soundly and whispered against his lips, 'I love you,' before he pulled away to find a chair. He sat it by Sherlock's bedside, the one where he wouldn't be in the way of the machines he was hooked up to in case something went wrong in the night, and grasped his hand, lacing their fingers together.

'Now sleep, love. I'll be here.'

'I will if you promise to stop beating yourself up. Neither of us is to blame for what happened.' Sherlock squeezed John's hand tightly. 'Sweet dreams,' he murmured softly, his eyes flickering shut as the drugs lulled him to sleep.

John watched Sherlock sleep for nearly an hour, observing and listening to everything. The steady rise and fall of his chest, restricted by the bandages that were holding his ribs in place; the beeping of the heart monitor, slow and steady in his sleep; how Sherlock's entire face looked so different when he was asleep, vulnerable and open but still somewhat closed off out of habit. He looked almost childlike, innocent. John almost smirked as Sherlock wasn't so innocent anymore; he had made sure of that.

His eyelids began to droop and his head lolled toward his chest. Sleep was taking him whether he wanted it to or not. He rested his head on his arm, his body tense despite his exhaustion. He squeezed Sherlock's hand before he closed his eyes. He fell asleep with a smile on his face when Sherlock squeezed back.

* * *

Ok. Sorry for all the angst and the whole beating Sherlock up thing. But it will be ok... for now.

And, if anyone is curious, those Sherlock teas are real. Over at adagio teas search for Cara McGee. She's areyoutryingtodeduceme over on tumblr and I was lucky enough to meet her at a con and sampled some of her teas for the first time. I have Sherlock and John right now, and Sherlock is my favourite at the moment. When I get more money I plan on buying Reichenbach Recovery and a punk!Lock print of hers.

But yeah. I will go back to the regular weekly schedule after this. We'll still get a chapter this upcoming Monday. I'm not going to skip it simply because I posted two chapters this week. But finals are drawing near and updates may slow. Depends on if I have the time to edit and my partner has time to read over the chapter before it's posted, and if I can get to the library every Monday once I'm back home. If updates do slow I will warn you all ahead of time, but I'll try to stick to some sort of posting schedule.

See you Monday!

TSA + IB


	9. In Hospital

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Mycroft

Me: John, Molly, various nurses

_Warnings for this chapter: some angst, eating bananas seductively, blow jobs (while attached to a heart monitor)_

* * *

Chapter 9 – In Hospital

It took a long while for dreams to wriggle through Sherlock's drug riddled mind but when they did they weren't pleasant ones. John was yelling at him, screaming, grabbing at him. His brother was standing in the corner staring completely blank at him. Lestrade was next to Mycroft, looking on with accusing eyes. Anderson was there too, turning the already horrid dream into a full blown nightmare. Moriarty was there, grinning like the insane and irksome prick he was and his henchman stood by his side. And then the first punch came from Moriarty's henchman's fist and Sherlock bolted upright. He gasped for breath as his heart thundered on the inside of his chest.

'John!' he screamed, tears frolicking down his face, shaking and whimpering like a pathetic child.

John bolted upright as soon as Sherlock called out to him. His mind went into overdrive, soldier-mode activated. He quickly surveyed the room for danger but found none. He then turned to Sherlock and nearly started crying at the sight.

He was a wreck, tears streaming down his face, his free arm wrapped tenderly around his side, his hand clutching to John's tightly.

'Sherlock, Sherlock it's ok,' John whispered soothingly. He shooed away a nurse who had appeared and she nodded, disappearing down the hall. 'Shhh. Shhh, I'm here.' He sat on Sherlock's bed and pulled him into a soft embrace. 'It was only a bad dream, Sherlock. It's alright. You're safe. I'm here. I'm here.'

Sherlock gripped onto John weakly, sniffling into the crevice of John's neck. 'You were so angry with me,' he whispered. 'I'm sorry, I really am. I didn't mean—' he sobbed. 'Everyone hated me so much. You, my brother, Lestrade, Anderson—' He snorted. 'Ok perhaps that one is mutual.' He sighed loudly, hiccupping on another sob. 'And _they_ were there - the henchman and Moriarty.'

'Shhh, it's ok now,' John whispered, rocking Sherlock gently. 'I'm not mad at you, not anymore. I forgive you for not telling me, I do.' He smoothed Sherlock's damp curls off his forehead and kissed it lightly. 'No one hates you, not Lestrade or your brother. Anderson is a mutual hate between us all,' he smirked. 'And Moriarty and his henchman can't hurt you here. I won't let them.'

He clung to Sherlock, continuing to rock him gently until his shaking eased. 'I'm going to get you out of here and back to the flat as soon as possible,' he said into Sherlock's hair. 'We'll be safer there, I promise.'

Sherlock wound his hands in the material of John's shirt tightly. 'Isn't that where all of this started? We're not safe there John. I don't think we should go back. And I shall advise Mrs Hudson to move out for a while too. I'm not going to risk her _and_ you.'

'Understood,' John nodded. 'But where should we go? Should I call Mycroft and have him set something up for us?'

Sherlock bit his lip and rested his head fully on John's shoulder. 'Yes, I think that would be the best course of action.'

'OK,' John pet Sherlock's head soothingly. 'Do you want me to call him now?'

'Yes, please.' Sherlock's voice shook. 'Actually, could you perhaps get him to come here?' He surprised himself by the request but strangely he found himself craving his brother's guidance in this situation.

'Of course, love,' John whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Sherlock's head. He reached into his jeans and pulled out his mobile, found Mycroft's number, and hit TALK. He held onto Sherlock the entire time, not wanting to let him go but also because he knew Sherlock probably wouldn't let him go either. He was clinging to him like a child would to his mother's leg.

'John, this is a pleasant surprise,' Mycroft answered rather jovially. 'To what do I owe the pleasure?'

'I need a favour from you. Well, a few.'

'Oh? And how can I help?'

'Well, I need you to come to the hospital so we can talk in person. No offense but I don't trust phones right now. And I'm sure it's well within your power to find Sherlock's room.'

'Of course. I'll be there as soon as I can.' There was a slight pause. 'How is he?'

'Better than he was,' John answered. 'Just, get here soon, OK? Please.'

'Of course, John.'

And they hung up.

'Thank you,' Sherlock whispered gratefully. 'I bet you think I've turned into complete softie.' He chortled. 'I just… when I thought that I was going to die in the flat it prioritised things in my mind.'

'I don't think you're turning soft, I think you're becoming human,' John smiled. 'After all that happened I can understand you wanting family near.' John paused at Sherlock's fear of dying, tears pricking in his eyes as he remembered the ambulance ride.

'Sherlock, there was something I didn't tell you. When... When you were in the ambulance... You... You...' John swallowed harshly, the tears escaping. 'You flat lined on the way to the hospital, and I brought you back. And the doctor said you came close again while you were on the table. I was so close to losing you, Sherlock. Now I know why it bothers you whenever I bring up my own "death" and I'll never bring it up again. I don't want to think about life without you and I don't want you to think about life without me either. I'm sorry.' He buried his nose in Sherlock's hair and inhaled deeply, his tears falling on Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock clutched at John tighter. 'It seems we have both become emotional wrecks. I hate the damn things - emotions that is. I hate seeing you cry. I hate to think that you were in pain for a single moment because of me.' He brushed his fingers under John's chin, forcing him to look at him. 'I am alive. You are alive. We are together. I think it was you who told me to focus on the now and not on what could have been. Now I am telling you that you should do the same.'

John nodded and wiped his eyes. He looked into Sherlock's eyes and almost began crying again. Instead he kissed him, hard, plunging his tongue down Sherlock's throat. He grabbed Sherlock by his hair and tilted his head back so he could kiss him deeper. Sherlock's heart began to beat out of control once more but it wasn't a nurse to pull them apart this time it was his brother with his infuriatingly bad timing.

'Dear me, can't you save that for somewhere a little less public?'

John blushed and slid off Sherlock's bed, sitting back in his chair. He held onto Sherlock's hand though, not wanting to eliminate all form of contact.

'You didn't waste any time getting here,' John stated.

'Given the current circumstances I am never far away from Sherlock,' Mycroft replied. 'Now I do believe we have a various amount of things to talk about.'

'Yes, we certainly do,' John agreed. 'First things first, Sherlock and I need to be put in a safe house of some kind. We don't feel safe at the flat anymore and we need to get away. Mrs Hudson too. We don't want to risk losing her. Send her to her sister's, give her her own safe house, let her share with us, I don't care. Just as long as we're all safe.'

'Of course. I agree that your flat is no longer safe - at least for now. I shall make arrangements today.' He pursed his lips together. 'Of course this might mean staying low for a while. No case solving Sherlock and no blogging about cases John. As for Mrs Hudson, I can arrange for her to be taken to her sister's.'

John sighed in relief. 'Of course. Thank you.' He squeezed Sherlock's hand for lack of anything else to do. 'I suppose it goes without saying that we'll need clothes?'

'I'll have Anthea pick something up for you both,' Mycroft stated, smiling at John and Sherlock. 'And perhaps she could pick up a new coat for Sherlock too.' His eyes glazed over for one moment. 'I hear his original was rather badly damaged.'

John nodded and sighed. Not only had the coat soaked up most of Sherlock's blood but it had to be cut off him before he was transferred to surgery. John had a lot of fond memories of that coat, and he was surprised that he would miss something as silly as that. But it wasn't any ordinary coat. It was Sherlock's, and it was almost as famous as he was these days.

'Is there anything you want, Sherlock?' John asked him. 'Anything that I haven't already asked for?'

Sherlock thought long and hard about that. 'My skull. I want my skull.' He smirked a little. His brother rolled his eyes but it seemed to be in amusement than anything else.

'Very well little brother. As you wish.'

'And your violin,' John added. 'Don't forget about that.'

Sherlock laughed loudly. 'Yes. My violin!' he exclaimed cheerfully.

'I thought that might make you happy,' John grinned, placing a small kiss on Sherlock's knuckles. To Mycroft he said, 'If you think of anything else we may need by all means get it for us. Thank you for helping us.'

'It's the least I can do after what has happened,' Mycroft replied softly. 'John, may I have a moment alone with my brother?'

John hesitated. He didn't want to leave Sherlock alone, even if he _would_ be with Mycroft. He looked to Sherlock and he didn't see the normal apprehension in his eyes where Mycroft was concerned. John sighed and nodded.

'Alright, but if you need me for any reason don't hesitate to call. I'll be getting something to eat.' He looked to Sherlock again as he stood up, their hands still tightly clasped. 'Love you,' he whispered as he placed a small kiss on Sherlock's lips. He untangled their hands and made to leave, pausing at the door to gather his wits about him, and then left, closing the door softly behind him.

Mycroft walked slowly but with purpose over to Sherlock's bedside. He licked his lips a little nervously, noting every injury his baby brother had attained. He dropped to his knees with a defeated sigh and rested his head on Sherlock's lap.

'I am sorry Sherlock. I have failed you.'

Sherlock reached out and awkwardly patted his brother's back. 'You've done no such thing.'

'I should have protected you,' Mycroft bit back.

'What like I protected you when you got hurt?' Sherlock retorted.

'It's different. I'm older than you. I should have been taking better care of you.'

'You've done more than enough for me and John,' Sherlock smiled fondly.

John made his way to the cafeteria, grabbing a banana and a cup of coffee. He couldn't stomach much anymore. Sherlock had been rubbing off on him with the whole barely eating thing, but for the past two days all he'd had to eat were pancakes and fruit. Had that really only been yesterday morning?

John thunked his head on the table and groaned. Had all this really taken place in only two, maybe three, days?

'John?' A soft voice was above him, one he recognised but he was too mentally exhausted to put a name to the voice. He rolled his head over so he could see who was talking to him and sat up once he recognised her.

'Oh. Hi Molly. What are you doing here?'

'I'm on break from the morgue. The food is a lot better here,' she smiled weakly. 'What are you doing here?'

'Visiting a loved one,' he answered evasively. He knew Sherlock wouldn't want Molly to know that he had been injured, let alone that they were together. It would break the poor girl's heart. She'd been pining after him for so long now.

'Oh. Well, I hope they get better soon,' she smiled.

'Thanks,' John grinned back.

'I should probably go and let you get back to them. Is someone up there now?'

'Yes, family, they aren't alone.'

'Alright. Well, I wish them a speedy recovery,' Molly smiled again. 'Take care.'

'You too.'

'I think I'm going to die.' The words came out sounding strangled and deformed from Sherlock's lips.

Mycroft lifted his head and stared at his baby brother in disbelief. 'I won't let you.'

Sherlock shook his head. 'There's nothing you can do to prevent it. Moriarty said he owed me a fall.' His breath hitched. 'I think that was his twisted way of telling me he is going to kill me.'

The elder Holmes bit his lip. 'No Sherlock. That is not going to happen. I'll make sure of it.'

John couldn't stomach being in the cafeteria anymore. The people were too cheery for being in a hospital. He wandered the halls before he came to a little gift shop. He was apprehensive at first but as soon as he saw the little hedgehog plushie in the window he couldn't resist. When he found the otter it was just perfect. He purchased both with the widest grin on his face and he headed back to Sherlock's room, waiting outside the door until Mycroft left.

Sherlock tensed as he heard footsteps from outside. He looked up and saw John hovering outside the door. 'We'll talk about this another time, Mycroft.'

Mycroft glanced up and upon seeing John sighed. 'You really love him, don't you?'

Sherlock was a little taken aback by his brother's question. It wasn't the type of thing he had expected him to ask. He answered it all the same. 'More than I could have ever dreamed of having the capability to, yes.'

The elder Holmes stood to his feet, smirking slightly. He playfully ruffled Sherlock's curls. 'I'll see you soon.'

Sherlock nodded, ending their unusually friendly and brotherly chat.

Mycroft stood to his feet and briskly walked out, nodding at John as he passed him. 'I'll be in touch with the details of your new accommodation. Look after him John.' And with a whirl of his umbrella he left.

John watched Mycroft leave before he entered Sherlock's room. 'Did you two have a nice brotherly chat?' he asked.

Sherlock's brow scrunched together. 'Yes, I suppose we rather did.' He sighed heavily. 'Some of the topics that came up were - difficult however.'

'Understandable,' John nodded. His face broke out in a wide grin. 'I got you something.'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow and bit back a smile. 'You did?'

'Yep,' John grinned, bouncing on the balls of his feet. 'Do you want to guess or should I give it to you now?'

Sherlock giggled at John's strange behavior. 'I want to see it now.'

John smiled widely, his tongue poking out through his teeth. He thrust the gift bag into Sherlock's hands. 'Here. Open it.'

As Sherlock opened the bag and saw the two plush toys he let out a loud laugh of joy. He first of all picked up the hedgehog. 'I think I'll call this one John.'

John laughed. 'Of course you will,' he smiled. 'And the otter? What are you going to call him?'

'I'm going to name him after the first man I ever fell in love with.' Sherlock grabbed the otter and smirked. 'Myself of course.'

John snorted and covered his mouth with his hand. 'Of course, you narcissistic bastard. But I mean that in the most loving way possible.' He picked up the hedgehog and touched its nose to the otter's.

'You really wouldn't have me any other way,' Sherlock stated knowingly, briefly kissing John's nose.

'No, I love you just the way you are. Narcissism and all.' He kissed Sherlock's nose as well, sitting on the bed and taking his hand in his. 'So... What do we do now?'

'We get out of here as quickly as possible and lay low,' Sherlock replied, chewing on his lower lip in thought.

'Sounds like a plan. But we'll have to stay here until we hear from Mycroft. Until then, you should try to eat something, get some food in you so you can get some strength back. I know you're strong, Sherlock,' John said, holding up a hand to silence Sherlock's protest, 'but you had major surgery and lost a lot of blood and you haven't eaten anything to add some nourishment back to your body.' He hovered his hand over the nurse's call button. 'So, food?'

'Fine, food it is.' Sherlock shriveled up his nose. 'I hate hospital food though so don't expect me to eat much.'

'You don't have to eat a lot, I know you won't anyway,' John said as he hit the call button. 'If all you eat is a banana I will consider it to be enough. At least it's _something_.'

Sherlock grinned. 'I love bananas. Bananas are good. So there're two doctors out there that seem to have a mad obsession about the yellow fruit.'

'"Good source 'o potassium,"' John smiled. 'Yes. When all else fails, go for a banana. Bananas are very good.'

Sherlock chuckled and shook his head. 'Look at us. Laughing in a hospital. It hardly seems proper. Still, better than laughing at a crime scene,' he said, smiling fondly at the first crime he and John had been involved in. It had been the thing to seal their friendship. John hummed fondly at the memory. He had shot the cabbie for Sherlock for the case he had titled 'A Study in Pink.' It had not only solidified their friendship but it proved that John would be a trusted and loyal companion. He nuzzled Sherlock on the nose and then a nurse finally walked in.

'Hi there,' she smiled. 'How can I help you two?'

'Sherlock needs something to eat,' John answered. 'Just something light, nothing too heavy. We were thinking bananas.' He winked at Sherlock and grinned.

'Sure thing,' the nurse said. 'Bananas coming right up.'

Sherlock budged up slightly and patted the space beside him.

'Sit with me,' he smirked, his heart beating a little faster. John wiggled his eyebrows and scooted closer, his own heart beating wildly in his chest. His pupils dilated as he came closer to Sherlock, his breath hitching slightly.

'You seem a little nervous,' Sherlock stated, frowning ever so slightly. 'You have nothing to be nervous about you know.' He snuggled up to John, eager for more contact.

'I'm not nervous,' John squeaked out. 'Just... Really, _really_...' he swallowed. 'Oh, fuck it.' He grabbed Sherlock's face and pulled him in for a deep kiss. Sherlock kissed John for what seemed like forever. He moaned softly and traced patterns on John's side with his fingers. John moaned into the kiss and ran his hands gently down Sherlock's arms. One stopped on his hip and the other traveled down until it reached his thigh, squeezing gently. Sherlock hummed and rubbed himself against John. When a loud grumble came from his stomach however he couldn't help but fall into a fit of laughter. John snickered against Sherlock's lips before he burst out laughing. He covered his face with his hands and fell back against Sherlock's pillows. He had to hold his stomach he was laughing so hard.

'Never in all the time I've known you did I think your _stomach_ would actually interrupt you from doing anything,' he gasped between breaths.

Sherlock huffed and pouted. 'My stomach is an utter pain in the arse.'

'I believe the title of "Biggest Pain in Sherlock's Arse" has been taken by me, thank you very much,' John grinned, tapping a finger on Sherlock's nose. The nurse came back with a large bunch of bananas, a wide smile on her face.

'Enjoy you two,' she grinned, handing John the bananas.

'Thanks,' John smiled back as she left. He broke off one banana and handed it to Sherlock, then took another for himself.

'I believe it has indeed,' Sherlock said as he began slowly and methodically peeling his banana. His lips pulled upwards as he began to chew on the yellow fruit, swirling his tongue over it and glancing over to John, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. John let out a noise akin to a whimper as he watched Sherlock 'eat' his banana.

_Fucking hell,_ he swore, pressing his legs together. _You can't give him a blow job in the fucking hospital. Not while he's hooked up to the heart monitor. Control yourself, Watson. Don't give in. Okay, okay, you can play along, but don't do anything stupid!_

He pressed the heel of his hand to his crotch before he decided to up the ante. He licked his way up his banana, swirling his tongue around the end before he bit into the skin, pulling the peel down with his teeth. He sucked on the 'head' of the banana before 'swallowing' it down and coming back up to take a rather harsh bite out of it and swallowing it whole.

'You'll get indigestion swallowing your food so quickly,' Sherlock quipped, gently chewing on his own. 'You might even choke without properly chewing on it.'

John did choke, but not on the banana. He choked on his own laughter.

'So you apparently have the ability to ignore my sexual advances at the most inopportune of times while also being able to arouse me simply by eating a banana?' John laughed. 'That is some talent, Sherlock.'

Sherlock chuckled. 'Believe me when I say I know exactly how much I affect you with the little things and I am perfectly aware of your advances. That's not to say I'll stop pretending I am ignorant. Quite the opposite. It will only spur me on to feign innocence and ignorance.'

'I... I don't even know how to respond to that,' John stammered. 'Wait. Yes I do. You pretend to ignore my advances so that I'll get sexually frustrated but you also flirt back with me until I get to the point where I can't stand it anymore and attack you.' He nibbled on the banana in thought. 'An unorthodox seduction technique but effective.'

'I hope to perfect it,' Sherlock moaned softly, chewing slowly whilst running his hand over the now visible tent in the middle of his legs.

'You are such a fucking tease,' John moaned, pressing the heel of his hand against his own erection. Sherlock hummed and shifted in the bed so that his erection was pressed firmly against John's thigh.

'What were you saying?' he fluttered his eyelashes innocently.

John moaned and shifted his thigh so Sherlock's erection rubbed against it.

'You know, Sherlock, you shouldn't be twisting your sides like that,' John said, pushing on Sherlock's shoulders until he lay back on his back. A hand skirted down Sherlock's torso until it reached his thigh, his fingertips drawing patterns on it, up and down and across, coming closer and closer to the place they both wanted them to be. Sherlock groaned and whimpered. His heart monitor began to race inexplicably fast.

'Down a little bit John.' He chewed on his lower lip and wriggled under his covers. John grinned wickedly but his hand didn't move any further.

'Calm your heart rate for just a moment, love,' he whispered in Sherlock's ear. 'I will be right back.'

He stood up to search for the signs he knew hospitals kept hidden in the rooms. He heard Sherlock's heart monitor slow down slightly, enough to keep the nurses off their scent. He needed the sign though so when Sherlock's heart did speed up again they would see the sign and understand. He found them stashed in the wardrobe behind the spare sheets and grabbed the one he needed: 'Private Physical in Progress. Do Not Disturb.' As soon as he put the sign on the door he locked it behind him, his dark eyes boring into Sherlock's. He sauntered back to Sherlock's bed, crawling up from the end until his body loomed over his lover's.

'Now, what would you like, Sherlock?' he asked, his hand trailing up Sherlock's thigh again. 'Hand or mouth?'

'Mouth,' Sherlock rasped. 'That way there won't be any evidence,' he smirked.

'Mouth is it,' John grinned before kissing Sherlock once again, sucking his tongue into his mouth. He released him only when he heard the heart monitor skip a beat. He shimmied his way down, pushing the sheets out of the way as he went. Normally he would have trailed kisses and bites down Sherlock's torso, but with the bandages holding his ribs in place he decided against it.

He positioned himself between Sherlock's legs, pushing them further apart with his shoulders. When Sherlock's legs were draped over his back and his cock waving in front of his face John allowed himself to smile. If they had gotten that far without anyone interrupting them then they would be able to get away with it.

John's hands rested on Sherlock's hips, holding him down as his tongue licked a thick, wet stripe from base to tip, swirling around the head. He hummed at the wonderful taste of Sherlock on his tongue. God, he was delicious. He sucked just the head of Sherlock's cock into his mouth, his tongue lapping at the underside to tease him.

Sherlock bit back a scream of pleasure as fire jolted through his every fiber. The fire was only increased by the mere thought of getting caught in their current compromising situation. He rolled his hips or at least attempted to. John was teasing him into a shivering ball of racing emotions. He whimpered as his damaged body ached as John caused him to writhe.

John swallowed down a moan as he slowly sucked more of Sherlock into his mouth. He was nervous about getting caught but just the thought made him quiver in excitement. He bobbed his head on Sherlock's cock, sucking tightly on the head before plunging back down.

Sherlock was pulled under John's mystical spell. He let out a sound a little bit more loudly than he had intended.

'Gahh!' His face rippled with joy and blatant desire as he attempted to thrust his hips upwards.

John gripped Sherlock's hips tightly, forcing him to stay still. He sucked down on Sherlock's cock until the head hit the back of his throat. He then began to slowly swallow Sherlock down his throat until his nose was tickled by Sherlock's hair. He swallowed for good measure before he rose, sucking on the head again, and moved back down to swallow Sherlock whole.

'Close,' he mumbled under his breath. 'So close.' John growled around Sherlock's cock, sucking him harder. He gripped Sherlock's hips and pulled him closer, his cock sliding just a little farther down his throat. He moved one hand to Sherlock's sac and stroked gently, knowing that if he was close just the lightest touch would make him feel like his skin was on fire.

Sherlock came and with it the suppressed scream carrying John's name flew out of his lips. Fuck. Someone was sure to hear him.

John swallowed Sherlock's load and he released Sherlock's cock with an obscene pop. He kissed him thoroughly so Sherlock could taste himself on John's tongue. He was lost in the post-orgasmic haze even though he himself hadn't had one. Once the frantic beeping of the heart monitor returned the sound of someone pounding angrily on the door came with it. Then he remembered Sherlock yelling his name rather loudly as he came. Combined with his frantic heart rate it wouldn't be hard to guess what they had been up to.

Fuck.

He moved from between Sherlock's legs and stood up, covering Sherlock once again. He straightened his own clothes so he looked presentable and wiped his mouth of any evidence that he may have missed. He slowly approached the door and, taking a deep breath, opened it to come face to face with a rather annoyed nurse.

'Are you two idiots?' she hissed. 'You can't do... something like that so soon after a major trauma and surgery to boot! Doctor Watson, you are a medical man yourself and I expected you to know better.' She stalked over to Sherlock's machines, punched in a few codes and numbers, glared at them both, and then stalked out, slamming the door rather harshly behind her.

John winced. He had been expecting a slap of some sort. He was just thankful it was a verbal slap versus an actual one. He stepped back to Sherlock's bedside, sitting on the edge.

'Well, that was embarrassing,' he laughed lightly. 'Could've been worse though.'

Sherlock hummed in a mutual agreement. 'Much worse. It could have been Greg or, god forbid, Mycroft.'

'Oh god,' John laughed. 'Can you imagine the looks on their faces if it _was_ one of them?' John laughed heartily at the mental images.

'I can indeed,' Sherlock panted. 'Just give me a minute to, catch, my breath.' His lungs spat out air and took it in frantically as he struggled to put his body back to its factory settings.

'Take all the time you need, love,' John said softly, running his fingers through Sherlock's hair. 'I don't know about you, but I'm rather looking forward to washing your hair again.'

Sherlock shriveled up his nose. His hair was indeed a knotted, greasy, and bloodied mess. 'Me too. When do you think they'll give me clearance to leave?'

John thought about that. His medical side said up to a week, but the side that wanted Sherlock hidden and under protection said otherwise.

'We'll wait until we hear from Mycroft, then I'll tell the staff that I'm taking you with me. Since I'm a doctor they should let me. Private patient care and all that,' he answered. 'Until then you're stuck here I suppose. And I'm not leaving your side until we hear from your brother.' He turned so his back was against Sherlock's pillows and pulled Sherlock to him, his head resting on Sherlock's.

**…::-::…**

Mycroft Holmes was certain Sherlock would detest the choice of location that he had chosen for a safe house. He had come to the decision that the Holmes family residence was the perfect place to keep both John and Sherlock hidden and safe. His and Sherlock's mother was currently in France so the building would be empty and a perfect location for his brother to recover.

He quickly sent a text to John.

_Location for safe house has been sought up. –MH_

**…::-::…**

John's mobile chimed in his pocket, indicating he had a new message. Without letting go of Sherlock he fished his mobile out of his pocket and unlocked it to read the message.

'Text, from your brother,' he said. He smiled when he read the rest. 'He's found a safe house for us.'

He messaged Mycroft back.

_Bring us the details in person. Don't trust phones. –JW_

When Mycroft arrived at the hospital he managed to arrange Sherlock's removal but with a little more hassle than he had first thought as he learnt of the horrifying antics John and his brother had gotten up to.

'Well, well you two. You have been busy, haven't you?' he smirked knowingly as he walked into Sherlock's private room.

The blood drained from John's face at Mycroft's smug words. 'Oh god, they told you?'

'The poor woman that overheard you was quite traumatised and was furious at the idea of Sherlock being left in your care. Don't worry though. I soon convinced her that you would minimize your, activities.' Mycroft snorted. 'Not that I believe you will.'

John blushed deeply. 'So, where are we going?' he asked, ignoring Mycroft's jab about his and Sherlock's 'activities.'

'I can't tell you of the exact location for both your safety. What I _can_ tell you is that Sherlock will be right at home and both of you will be safe and at a suitable distance from here,' Mycroft replied.

'So someone else will be driving us there, I presume? Seeing as Sherlock is unable to and I... can't,' John admitted ashamedly. 'All our things will be transferred there too?'

'All arrangements have been made, John. You will leave after Sherlock has had one final check over by the nurses and my driver will drive you both there. Your things have already been packed and they will be sent with you,' the elder Holmes explained.

'Yeah, sorry. I just... I really want us to get away from here,' John sighed. 'How soon till the final checkup so we can leave?'

'Now, if that isn't too soon,' Mycroft informed John.

'That works for me. How about you, Sherlock?' John asked, turning to him and squeezing his hand slightly.

Sherlock nodded eagerly. 'That sounds great,' he beamed happily, only too grateful to leave the hospital.

'Alright. Get the nurses in here and let's get out of dodge,' John grinned.

Mycroft lifted his umbrella and, as though it had magical powers, he summoned a nurse.

It wasn't just any nurse though. It was the nurse who had scolded them earlier. John watched her with wide, apprehensive eyes, waiting for her to strike. But she looked perfectly composed. She shooed John off the bed so she could check Sherlock's progress, take his vitals, punch some numbers into the machines, etc.

'You seem to be recovering very nicely,' she smiled warmly at him. 'Surprising after what had happened.' She glared at John out of the corner of her eye and John groaned. 'Just so long as it doesn't happen again while your body is still in the early stages of recovery you should be fine.' She straightened up and walked to the door, glaring at John the entire time. 'Take care of him, _Doctor_.' She spat the word in contempt before leaving.

John ran his hands over his face, refusing to look at anyone. When he composed himself he straightened up and turned to Mycroft.

'Let me get Sherlock dressed and we'll meet you at the lift.'

Mycroft nodded and swiftly left, his lips turned up in amusement.

Sherlock blew out air through his nostrils and pouted. 'I don't like her. She's stupid. I'm perfectly capable of dealing with our activities.' He gave John a look as though to say 'Please don't listen to her.'

John sighed morosely and moved back to Sherlock's side. He took Sherlock's hand in his and linked their fingers.

'I won't make love to you until your ribs are better,' he said softly. 'But I will give you as many blow jobs and hand jobs as I see fit. It has been proven that orgasms have a lot of health benefits. And as a medical man it is in my job description to keep you healthy.' He winked at Sherlock and smiled.

'Now, let's get you dressed and let's get out of here.' He trotted to the end of the bed and found a small bag lying on the floor. A pair of Sherlock's pajama bottoms and a loose t-shirt were inside. _Mycroft,_ John thought, a small smile on his lips.

'Seems your brother thought ahead,' John grinned, walking back to Sherlock's bedside. He helped Sherlock shift so that his legs dangled off the side and slowly pulled the bottoms on him. The shirt was a little more difficult as Sherlock was still attached to the heart monitor and the IV drip.

'Stupid nurse,' John huffed. 'She didn't even complete the checkup.' He went to shut off the machines himself and carefully removed the needle from Sherlock's skin, tossing it in the biohazard bin. He bandaged Sherlock's arm where the needle had been and then pulled the shirt over his head.

'You feeling alright?' John asked, steadying Sherlock as he sat him in the chair by the bed. 'You look a little pale. Well, pale for you.'

Sherlock shrugged. 'I'm just tired,' he admitted. 'That, with the added fact I have no idea where the safe house is.' He exhaled loudly. 'I hate not knowing things. It gets to me. Makes me feel a little ill. Iller than I already am.' He rubbed his ribs and winced. 'Probably not helped by my body's coming into terms with its recent beating.'

'We can't know where we're going for our own safety,' John said softly, kneeling down so he was at eye level with Sherlock. He gently held Sherlock's cheek in his palm and stroked his face with his thumb. 'I can get you some strong pain medication before we go. I don't want to see you in pain.'

Sherlock nodded in agreement. 'Believe me when I say it's no fun at all being the one in pain. I'll need it.' He raised one of his hands and placed it on John's. 'You're doing it again. Feeling guilty. Stop it.'

'Sorry,' John smiled weakly. He rested his forehead against Sherlock's and inhaled deeply. 'I'll have the nurses bring the drugs and a wheelchair. I don't want to leave you alone.' He hit the nurse's call button for the last time.

Sherlock gave John a lopsided grin. 'I love you,' he said so softly that it was barely audible but he knew John had heard him. 'You daft, sentimental, adorable, jam eating man.'

'I love you too,' John grinned. The nurse came in then, thankfully a different nurse than the one who had scolded them earlier, and John told her what they needed. She nodded and scrambled off, returning a few moments later with a wheelchair and a bag with different varieties of pain medication. John thanked her and she left.

'Now, let's get your bee pant wearing arse in this chair and get out of here,' John smirked, helping Sherlock move from his chair to the wheelchair.

'John I – bees?' Sherlock suddenly became like an excitable puppy, wiggling in his wheelchair and beaming like a maniac. 'BEES! I love bees!' he exclaimed, laughing heartedly.

'Yes, I know you love bees,' John laughed. 'That's why as soon as you're better I'll give them to you. I've had them stashed away for a while, never really knowing when I would give them to you. But I think they're now perfectly suited as a Get Well Present.'

He rolled Sherlock from the room and down the hall to the lift where Mycroft was waiting for them. As John helped Sherlock into the black car that had been awaiting him he said with a knowing smile, 'Make sure you have your red pants on for that occasion. There's something about them that really affect me.'

Mycroft snorted, rolled his eyes and sighed. 'Why should I be at all surprised?' he muttered, waiting for John to slide in before he too took a seat. John blushed and closed the door, the driver starting down the road almost instantly. John took one of Sherlock's hands in his and rested his head against the window.

'So how far away is this safe house?' John asked.

'Far enough to keep the two of you safe,' Mycroft informed John and Sherlock.

Sherlock groaned. 'Well this is going to be fascinating fun.' He leant his head on John's shoulder as his eyes began to slowly but steadily shut.

John grunted and shifted slightly, allowing Sherlock to rest more comfortably. His eyes began to slide closed as well, the hum of the car lulling him to sleep.

'Wake us when we're almost there,' he mumbled before he fell asleep.

* * *

See? I told you it would get better. I mean, yeah, Moriarty is still out there but now they're safe. Or they will be once they get to the safe house.

Finals begin for me next Monday, but I'll still update. I'll be going home next Friday or Saturday, depending on when my mom can come get me. After that for updates I'll try to continue the weekly Monday thing, occasionally posting twice a week if I end on a really bad cliffhanger and it's bothering me. But if I miss a Monday I'm sorry, but I don't have internet access at my house (we live with my grandparents and they don't even have cable TV), so I'll be making trips to the library to update this.

I hope you all have a fantastic week and I'll see you next Monday!

TSA + IB


	10. The Manor House

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock and Mycroft

Me: John

_Trigger warnings: blood and suicidal thoughts._

_Other warnings: men sort of going at it, teasing, Captain Watson makes an appearance, and some drug experimentation by Sherlock._

* * *

Chapter 10 – The Manor House

Exactly one hour and thirty three minutes passed by in silence when the car finally pulled up into the Holmes manor house drive.

'We're here you two.' Mycroft gently shook John's shoulder. John grunted and pressed his face closer to the glass of the window. He had been having a wonderful dream filled with bees and hedgehogs and otters and jam. It didn't make a lot of sense but it was a nice dream nonetheless.

He cracked one eye open and gazed out the window upon the mansion of a safe house. He shifted his shoulder slightly so Sherlock would begin to wake up.

'Hey,' he whispered hoarsely. 'Hey, Sherlock. We're here.'

Sherlock moaned as he felt John shift. As he awoke he took in his surroundings and felt himself pale dramatically. His insides twisted and he began to feel nauseous. He gazed at Mycroft, his eyes startled and questioning, his mouth opening agape.

'This is a... It's big for a safe house,' John said. 'This isn't even a house. It's a mansion.' He turned to Sherlock and finally noticed his pale face and scared expression. 'Sherlock? Are you alright? What's wrong?'

'Nothing. My ribs are playing up that's all.' It wasn't a complete lie but he still felt guilty about not telling John what was really on his mind.

'Do you want some pain meds?' John asked, reaching for the bag.

Sherlock swallowed down hard and nodded. 'Yes please.' John reached in and found way more pills than he was expecting.

'Um... Scale of one to ten, ten being the worst, how bad is your pain?' he asked, rummaging through the bottles.

'Oh it's bad. Ten,' Sherlock muttered as the car came to a stop and his entire chest constricted as he tried to breathe normally. John fished around in the bag and was surprised to find a bottle of liquid morphine inside. Jeez, when they said everything they literally meant everything. He passed the bottle over to Sherlock.

'Drink a few sips of that, but no more. Too much and you'll get sick,' he instructed.

Sherlock sipped at the bottle and spluttered. 'That's bloody strong.' He pulled a face of disgust.

'Well you said ten!' John argued. 'It's liquid morphine, what did you expect? Pumpkin juice?'

Sherlock puffed out his cheeks and folded his arms childishly. 'I suppose we should be off,' he sighed.

'Yes,' Mycroft said. 'Shall I leave you two to it? After all, Sherlock will know where you have to go to.'

'Sherlock will know?' John questioned, looking between the two Holmes brothers. 'What do you mean?'

'This is where we grew up,' Sherlock almost growled.

John did a double take at Sherlock's words. He looked from the mansion to the Holmes boys, back to the mansion before finally settling on staring at Mycroft.

'So, when you said Sherlock would be right at home you weren't kidding,' he mused.

'Indeed,' Mycroft retorted.

'I wouldn't be so sure of that,' Sherlock grunted.

'Boys, play nice,' John warned.

'Why should I?' Sherlock spat, glaring at Mycroft.

'After all he's done for us in the past 24 hours? Sherlock, you should be grateful,' John said. 'I realise that the safe house he chose may not have been your first choice but maybe it really is the best choice. You'll know your way around the place, it's familiar territory, and maybe that will help.'

Sherlock clenched his fists tightly and gritted his teeth. 'I suppose so,' he muttered. John sighed, accepting Sherlock's words even though he knew he didn't mean them. He shifted so he could shimmy his way out of the car and pulled the wheelchair out with him. He helped Sherlock into it, who was still pouting.

'If you behave, I'll treat you to a little something special after I wash your hair,' John whispered into Sherlock's ear.

'I look forward to it,' Sherlock purred, forgetting his grumpiness for one moment.

'I assume you two will be ok now. If so I'll go. I will be in touch soon,' Mycroft called from inside the car. 'Your things have already been dropped off. They'll be in Sherlock's old room.'

'Thank you, Mycroft,' John said, shaking the man's hand. 'Thank you so much.'

'You are quite welcome, John,' the elder Holmes almost smiled. 'Do not hesitate to call if anything comes up, but I will be in touch with you soon.' He released John's hand and nodded to the driver, who sped off rather quickly. John turned back to Sherlock, who was semi-pouting in his chair. John couldn't help but giggle at him. He walked back to him and began pushing the chair up the drive to the doors.

'Let's get your hair washed,' John whispered sultrily in Sherlock's ear. 'Then you can direct me to your room and I'll treat you to a little something special.'

Sherlock's mouth hung open. 'And what exactly do you mean by special?'

'I know how you don't like not knowing, so I'll give you some hints,' John whispered as he opened the main door, pushing Sherlock inside before shutting and locking it behind them.

'It involves you spread out on your bed, bare arsed,' he whispered huskily, his fingers trailing up Sherlock's arm before grabbing the arm of the wheelchair.

Sherlock moaned. 'Oh god. Mmm.' He looked up at John with a look of pure ecstasy on his features. 'This way,' he said, pointing at a room.

'Bath first,' he reminded him. 'I promise to take good care of you after your hair is clean.'

Sherlock nodded. 'I have my own bathroom. It's attached to my bedroom,' he smirked. 'I was a spoilt brat.'

'And you're still a spoilt prat,' John smirked, wheeling Sherlock in the direction he had indicated. He reached a door that had a handwritten sign on it. He giggled at the words, some of the letters written backwards.

'"Sherlock's Mind Palace. No Mycrofts Allowed,"' John read, smirking slightly. 'And how old were you when you wrote that?'

Sherlock blushed. 'About seven. I just never bothered to take it down.'

'We should make one for your bedroom door at Baker Street,' John smirked, opening the door. 'Or for the sitting room door. Based on how he likes to pop in unannounced, it may come in handy. Especially with all our "activities" now.'

Sherlock's room was a lot different than the one at Baker Street. At their flat it was modest, more mature (and John used that term loosely), but it fit Sherlock's personality. His room in his family home was brighter, memorabilia of his childhood took up shelves upon shelves, and there were posters of pirates and the like on one of the walls.

'Mycroft did mention your first career choice was becoming a pirate,' John smiled, eyeing the poster as he shut the bedroom door. 'It's a part of you I've always been curious about.'

'Arrr me hearty, I shall make Mycroft walk the plank,' he growled in his best pirate impression.

'Oh please do,' John laughed heartily. 'You have my permission to do so after this is all over.'

He opened the door to the bathroom and paused in the doorway. A large Jacuzzi bathtub sat in one corner, a walk-in shower in the other. A full-length mirror spanned from the tub to the sinks, of which there were three, and almost reached the loo which was in its own private little room. Two skylights let in warm sunlight, streaming down on the two men, warming John's skin.

'Wow. You were definitely a spoilt brat,' John breathed, looking around the room again. 'This place is almost as big as your bedroom itself.'

'I can't help being a rich bastard,' Sherlock shrugged, laughing out loud. 'Besides, this is nowhere as near as big as My's room,' he commented before realising his mistake. 'Mycroft's I mean that is.' He shriveled up his nose. 'I've always hated him for that.'

'Your room is perfect, love,' John said, pressing a light kiss behind his ear. 'Now, how are we going to wash your hair? I really don't want to get your bandages wet, so what's our best option? The sink or the shower?'

'The sink most likely though I'll have to take a shower at some point,' he replied.

'Alright then,' John nodded. He wheeled Sherlock over to the row of sinks, twirling the chair around so Sherlock's back faced them. 'Well, unless you want to stand up and bend over, which I do not recommend by the way, we're going to need a taller chair.'

'We could always use a few pillows to make me tall enough,' Sherlock mused, not particularly wanting to bend over. 'Or a quick shower might suffice. Can't you hold me upright? Then you could replace my bandages.'

'I suppose,' John mused, glancing over at the shower. 'Well, at least the shower head is adjustable. That should make things a little easier.' He paused. 'I don't have any extra bandages though. Should I have Mycroft send some over or do you have some stashed in this mansion somewhere?'

'There's some in my room under my bed.' Sherlock nodded in the direction of the open door. 'Don't ask why.'

John swallowed and nodded. He had almost forgotten about Sherlock's abusive father, almost forgot that he had painful looking scars along his back.

'Is that why you were scared when we arrived here?' John asked softly. 'Because of him?' He swallowed again as a realisation hit. 'Mycroft doesn't know, does he?'

'Yes, and to be honest John I really rather don't want him or my mother to know,' Sherlock sighed heavily, shoulders slumping.

'It's not my place to tell them,' John said softly, placing a gentle hand on Sherlock's shoulder and rubbing it soothingly. 'But... Let's not dwell on that now. He's long gone, you're alive, and you're with me now. And I would never do anything to harm you.' He crouched down to Sherlock's level and brought his fingertips to his jaw, pushing slightly so Sherlock would look at him.

'I love you,' he said against Sherlock's lips before kissing him briefly. 'Now let me clean that filthy hair of yours and then I'll make you feel all better. Add some far more pleasant memories to your childhood home.'

'I used to be such an innocent until you came into my life,' Sherlock chuckled. 'You won't believe the images in my mind now.' He pulled a fake look of utter horror. 'My mind palace is violated!'

'Then let's add some more dirty images to that palace, shall we?' John purred, sealing his lips to Sherlock's.

Sherlock moaned and whimpered. 'Agreed.' He swallowed and bit his lip.

'Now, let's clean you up you dirty boy, and then I'll dirty you all over again,' John moaned, opening the door to the shower to turn on the water. He turned and stripped Sherlock of his shirt, leaving his trousers on for the time being.

'Go ahead, Sherlock,' John moaned wantonly, dropping to his knees at Sherlock's feet. 'Undress me.' Sherlock's nimble fingers worked fast and soon John's clothes had all been tossed onto the floor.

'Now for my trousers,' Sherlock murmured huskily. John hummed and grabbed the hem of said trousers, pulling them down excruciatingly slowly. Once they passed Sherlock's buttocks he yanked them down with a flourish, tossing them across the room.

The bathroom was now hot, humid, and steamy from the water of the shower. The mirrors had fogged up, the tiles had become slick, and it was the perfect atmosphere in John's opinion.

He helped Sherlock up from the chair and led him into the shower, propping him in a corner until he shut the door to the bathroom and then the shower after he clambered in.

John found the bottle of shampoo and poured some into his hands, running a large amount of water over Sherlock's head before he lathered the product and began working it through Sherlock's hair. Sherlock felt himself come undone. The tips of John's fingers were turning him insane. Strange gurgling sounds rippled from his throat as he quivered against the most beautiful touches.

'Mmm.'

John rinsed Sherlock's hair of the first wash and started in on another. It was clear his hair would need to be washed more than once, possibly more than twice, for it to return to its natural curl and shine. John massaged Sherlock's scalp from the very top to the sides to the base, using the pads of his fingers to work the shampoo through the bloodied, matted mess. He rinsed and repeated once more before he deemed Sherlock's hair clean enough. Then he went to work gently cleaning Sherlock's body, massaging his muscles gently as he worked his way down.

'Ow!' Sherlock yelped as John's hands massaged somewhere tender from his beating. He bit his lip, glancing down at the blood red water gushing down the drain, trying to concentrate on anything but the pain.

'Oh god! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!' John said hastily, wrenching his hands away. 'Oh my god you're bleeding!' he cried, jumping out of the shower to grab the bandages stashed under Sherlock's bed and the bag of pain meds from the floor. He returned to the bathroom and thrust the liquid morphine into Sherlock's hands as he turned off the water.

'Sip that and sit down,' he instructed, gently pulling Sherlock from the wall and guiding him to the shower floor. If Sherlock was going to bleed best it go down the drain where the evidence would just wash away.

'Now, is it your ribs, or somewhere else?' John asked, trying his best to remain calm.

'Ribs.' He gritted his teeth together. The blood was coming faster now. 'Shit,' he ground out. He sipped at the vile tasting liquid and coughed. John gently peeled away the soiled bandages to reveal Sherlock's bruised and battered torso. There was blood everywhere, and for good reason. Sherlock's stitches had torn.

'Jesus fucking Christ,' John swore. 'Jesus. I'm going to need my medical kit.' He dashed out to Sherlock's room to search through their belongings. Knowing Mycroft and the current situation he had probably packed everything. He found the kit perched atop suitcases, snatched it, and dashed back, a needle and sutures already between his teeth.

'Now this is probably going to hurt, a lot,' John warned as he tried to clean the area, removing the old stitches carefully. 'It's going to pull and it's going to sting, but it's going to hurt. And I don't have any local anesthetic, so you may want to bite down on something. Preferably not me.'

He sterilized the needle and sutures with alcohol and steadied Sherlock's back. 'Prepare yourself,' he warned before he poked the needle through the top of the incision and pulled the suture through.

Sherlock bit down on his lip till the skin peeled and he drew blood. He took big sweeping breaths as he tried to stop himself from yelling out loud. The smell and taste of blood was making him feel physically sick, and the sensation of John pulling his wound closed tightly was making bile rise in the back of his throat. He whimpered, tears shining in his eyes.

'Almost done, Sherlock,' John said soothingly. 'Almost done. You're doing great, love.' He pulled the suture through one last time and tied it closed, snipping it with scissors to save the rest. He gently rubbed a cream on the freshly sutured wound that would help fight off infection before he grabbed the new bandages and gently wrapped them around Sherlock's torso, being mindful to make them snug but not too much nor too loose.

'You did great, Sherlock,' John praised him. 'You were fantastic. Absolutely fantastic.' He looked up at Sherlock then and wiped the tears from his cheeks. The guilt was rising in him again but he squashed it back down, knowing Sherlock wouldn't want that.

'Let's get you dried off and into bed, alright?' he said softly, standing up and bringing Sherlock with him slowly. 'We'll continue this later.'

Sherlock swallowed down on the bile that had been threatening to escape. 'Bed sounds good around now,' he agreed. 'After I've rested up I'll be able to show you the rest of the house. I can show you my old lab if you like.' He smiled softly at John.

'I'd like that,' John smiled, gently kissing Sherlock on his forehead. He manoeuvered them out of the shower and sat Sherlock back in the chair. He grabbed an incredibly fluffy towel from the rack and dried Sherlock's hair, laughing slightly when he stopped as it was all errant curl and hung in his face. He carded his fingers through Sherlock's hair until it was out of his face, a slight smile on his lips. He gently ran the towel down Sherlock's arms and legs before drying himself off.

'Now let's get you into bed and then I'm going to take a shower of my own. I'll crawl into bed with you after if you want.'

'I'd like that,' Sherlock sighed happily. 'I'd like that a lot.' In truth he didn't want John to go at all but he knew that a hot shower was just what the doctor had ordered for the older man. He noted the way every muscle under John's skin was tensed. _Stress,_ Sherlock thought. _Stress because of me._

John hummed and helped Sherlock get into his bed. 'Try not to lie on your side, alright? I'll be back and joining you before you know it.' He pressed a quick kiss to Sherlock's lips before covering him and walking back into the bathroom.

There was still some blood in the shower and it unnerved John. He started the hot water again, watching Sherlock's blood rush down the drain. Once the mirrors had fogged up again and a sheen of sweat had formed on John's skin did he allow himself to step into the scalding hot water.

It was a wakeup call, that was for sure. He needed to be more careful with Sherlock. He was fragile no matter how much the detective tried to convince him otherwise. John had hurt him, made him bleed, caused him pain, and it was all his fault. Sherlock was injured because of him. If he had just run after him, if he hadn't brought up his knowing about Moriarty, if he hadn't told Sherlock that he loved him that first morning post-homemade drug, if he hadn't let Mike walk him in to the Bart's lab and introduce the two of them... Sherlock would be fine. He would be absolutely fine. And John would be dead. He was on his way too, back to his flat to do just that (shot through the head from an illegal handgun. Quick, easy, efficient), when Mike stopped him, introduced them, Sherlock unknowingly saving his life. He clamped his hands around his head, trying to stop the voice from coming back that had plagued him for so long after being discharged.

_**It's your fault you know, **_it hissed._** Your precious Sherlock is in this position because you put him here. You hurt him, got him hurt, when you promised him that no harm would come to him with you around. But look at what has happened. He has been beaten into a bloody pulp because of you, ripped his stitches because of you, and now he thinks you're no better than the father that abused him for years. He doesn't love you, he never did, and he never will. He is incapable of feeling, incapable of sentiment, and you've broken him. Broken him worse than his father did, and he loathes and detests you for it.  
**_  
John crumpled in a heap on the floor, the voice unrelenting. All the guilt he hadn't allowed himself to feel because Sherlock hadn't wanted to see it, because he knew deep down he wasn't at fault, because neither of them were truly at fault, all came bubbling up to the surface. John cried out in anguish and slammed his hands against the tile for lack of anything better to do.

The voice was right. He was no better than Sherlock's father, bringing so much harm to Sherlock over the past few days. And he had promised that he would never let anything or anyone harm him again, and look where that got him. He was nearly beaten to death by Moriarty's henchman, had to have major surgery to fix him, then he had ripped his stitches and caused him more pain trying to stitch him up again.

Hot tears fell down John's face as the voice continued, recalling all the harm Sherlock had come to since John had walked into his life. The cabbie, the Black Lotus, The Gollum, Moriarty, Irene, the Hound, the H.O.U.N.D drug, and so many more. Now Moriarty was back with a vengeance and John was powerless to stop him. He had said he owed Sherlock a fall, that it had a far more permanent destination, and John was so scared that Moriarty was going to kill Sherlock out of boredom.

He pulled himself into a ball, clutching his knees to his chest, and sobbed. The water cascaded down around him but John couldn't feel it. He couldn't feel anything except the numbing pain in his chest. He needed to feel something other than pain; he needed a release he hadn't wanted since his discharge. He glanced up and saw the razor, the blades tempting and familiar. He reached out for it when a familiar voice came back to him, stopping him in his tracks.

'Don't do this, John,' it told him, the rich, deep baritone carrying throughout the bathroom. John wasn't sure if he was just imagining it or if Sherlock was actually there. 'This isn't your fault. None of this is your fault. I don't blame you for what happened and neither should you. I am not broken, I am healing. You saved me, and you shouldn't make promises you can't keep. I will always be in harm's way in my profession. You won't always be able to protect me. Please, John, please. Stop this. I don't blame you and I love you, more than I thought I would ever be capable of doing. Please, John, stop and come back to me.'

John opened his eyes to an empty room. Sherlock hadn't been there after all, but he had said all the right things. The voice in his head died down, John mentally placing it in a jar and closing the lid tightly, hoping to suffocate it. He stood up on shaky legs and scrubbed his face clean of tears. Taking a deep breath he steadied himself and reached for the soap, determined to make it back to Sherlock smelling clean and refreshed from the guilt and the grime that had settled in his skin from the past twenty four hours.

He toweled himself off before leaving the bathroom, pausing in the door to gaze upon Sherlock's sleeping figure. How had he gotten so lucky to receive the love of the great Sherlock Holmes? And how had Sherlock been lucky to get John's? John smiled and shook his head, closing the door as he quietly made his way to the bed and crawled under the sheets. He grabbed Sherlock's hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the palm before lacing their fingers together.

'I love you, you daft, overprotective, overbearing, eccentric prick of a man,' he whispered before falling asleep.

**…::-::…**

The bluest of blue eyes gazed upon the sleeping doctor, taking in everything about him. Each blond hair dipped in a pre old age silver was noted, each wrinkle embedded in his face was memorized and pushed back into the little room in his mind palace labeled 'John Watson' for later reference. John was perfect, not because of his looks, or his personality, or his mannerisms. Sherlock found him perfect because of every little imperfection he could spot made John more human. Sherlock needed some humanity in his life. Without it he would have simply stayed as an emotionless robot. He loved John because he was imperfect, human, and was the key to making him feel alive.

He tentatively reached out and stroked John's face, smiling to himself as the other man moaned and wrinkled up his nose in an adorable manner in his sleep.

He thanked himself for making the homemade drug in that moment. It had possibly been one of Sherlock Holmes's most life-changing moments and despite all the pain and disaster that seemed to have followed he wouldn't have changed things for the world.

And then there was the sex. Sex had confused Sherlock from a very young age. He hadn't seen any point in it. He had found it somehow disturbing, and unnecessary. However when he was with John it felt so right, and not disgusting, but completely and utterly satisfying. The sentiment that had followed the act had somehow set his attraction to John into something so much more meaningful and deeper, and now despite knowing he was now playing on the losing side he had John and he didn't care.

'You kind of look a little like a teddy bear,' he mused out loud. 'No, more like a sleeping kitten.' He kissed the tip of John's ear. 'Does my kitty want some jam?' he giggled. 'Or is my kitty feeling a little bit naughty?'

John was fast asleep it seemed as even the latter comment hadn't woken him up.

John slept rather peacefully despite the emotional trauma he had gone through in the shower. He was wrapped in warm blankets, silk sheets, and the softest pillows. He snuggled into the warmth, never wanting to leave. He felt a gentle touch to his face and scrunched up his nose. He heard Sherlock's voice but couldn't understand what he was saying. He snuggled closer to the voice, wanting to be safe and warm with the man that voice belonged to. A hand ran through his hair and he purred, arching into the touch like a cat. He fell asleep again soon after, the hand still petting his hair.

Sherlock twisted himself around, wincing as his ribs played up slightly. He smothered John's body in his, pressing himself against him, smiling into the base of his neck. He began to sing softly.

'Soft John, warm John, little ball of fur. Happy John, sleepy John, purr, purr, purr.'

There was a weight pressing down on him, but a comfortable weight. Then the singing started and he couldn't help but giggle in his sleep.

'Sh'lock, why are you singing the "Soft Kitty" song to me?' he mumbled sleepily.

'Why ever not?' Sherlock replied, trailing kisses down John's neck. 'That's what you are. My adorable kitty.'

'I'm not adorable,' John grumbled. 'And I'm not a kitty. On the fan forums I'm a hedgehog or a Hobbit. _You_ are a cat or an otter.' He arched into Sherlock's kisses, moaning in content.

'Oh, but you should have seen this fan video on YouTube. You were hissing like a little kitty cat and it was the most adorable thing I've heard in my existence.' He continued to kiss John. 'And though I agree you are quite Hobbit like, and your mannerisms are even more hedgehog like, you are currently curled against my chest in a very cat like way.' Sherlock ran a finger over John's silvery blond hair. 'You remind me of my old cat, you know. I loved her very much. Much like you.'

'No more fan videos for you,' John groaned, turning his head slightly so Sherlock could kiss new places on his neck. 'And I didn't know you had a cat.' He let out a noise very akin to a purr, cursing inwardly at himself. _Maybe I am a cat._

'Yes. Her name was Ash. She was quite a beautiful creature.' Sherlock nipped at John's neck, scraping his teeth on the slightly tanned flesh. 'Much like you. My beautiful kitty.'

John moaned and arched closer to Sherlock, his head tilting back. He wrapped a leg around one of Sherlock's and pulled him close, letting him know how his attentions had affected him. Sherlock chuckled, nipping harder on John's neck.

'Does my pretty little kitty like that?' he hissed down his lover's ear, licking along the bite mark he had just made in John's flesh. John moaned again, unable to form words. He nodded at least, pressing his neck closer to Sherlock's wonderful lips and his erection against Sherlock's thigh.

'Say my name,' Sherlock hummed, sucking his lips around John's Adam's apple and rubbing his own morning hard-on against the other's body.

'Ah, Sher–, mmm,' John moaned against the double sensations running through him. 'Oh, yes, Sher–' He twisted a hand in Sherlock's hair and held him close, rolling his hips against the other man. Sherlock dared not use his hips to tease John in case he ended up tearing his stitches once again. Instead, he used his long fingers to hook around the clothed erection. He began massaging John whilst continuing to nip and lick and suck at John's neck. John gasped and rutted against Sherlock's hand, so close already.

'Sh'lock,' he murmured, tightening his grip on Sherlock's hair and his other hand went to grasp Sherlock's on his cock. He laced their fingers together and rutted into Sherlock's palm, his hand holding his in the place he needed it most. Sherlock smirked but that simple smile turned into a shocked expression as John suddenly arched in ecstasy.

'Did–' He bit his lip. 'Did you just cum in your pants?'

John blushed and buried his head in Sherlock's shoulder. 'I do believe I did,' he laughed. 'Like a bloody teenager.'

'You must tell me the secret to breaking you like that.' Sherlock removed his hand. 'You're not usually so – quick to come undone.'

'Hadn't had an orgasm since the night before Moriarty,' John explained. 'Add two erections that I never did anything about to the mix and I'll cum in my pants pretty quickly.'

Sherlock's mouth formed a small 'o' shape. 'Do you mean if I denied you of one for a week or so you would be like putty in my fingers?'

'Perhaps,' John sighed. 'But don't start with a week, my cock would probably explode from denial.'

Sherlock shifted away. 'Tough.' He laid his calm blue eyes on John. 'I shall enjoy your torture.'

'Then enjoy yours as well,' John smirked, moving away from Sherlock's own erection. He turned over so his back was facing Sherlock and curled in on himself. He pulled a face at the feeling of his cum in his pants but made no move to remove them.

'I spent the whole of my life as a virgin, John. Believe me when I say I have my ways of distracting myself from... my lower region.' Sherlock was already turning his mind off from sexual desire. John scowled but paid Sherlock no mind. He wrapped the blankets tighter around himself and shut his eyes. In his post-orgasmic haze it would be pretty easy to fall asleep again.

Sherlock prodded John with a long boney finger. 'I'm bored,' he complained. 'And hungry.'

John groaned. He didn't want to do anything except sleep for three days. But Sherlock was his patient and he needed to take care of him. He threw the blankets off him and stalked to one of the suitcases, opening it to find a combination of their clothes inside.

He pulled off his soiled pants and replaced them with fresh ones, pulling on a pair of pajama trousers and shirt as well. He grabbed some for Sherlock as well, putting them on him gently. He helped Sherlock into the wheelchair and pushed him from the room, shutting the door behind them.

'So, where's the kitchen? Then we can go to your old lab and you can experiment to your heart's content.'

Sherlock nodded. 'Last door on the right,' he informed John. 'Are we going to have jam?' he asked excitedly. John snorted as he wheeled Sherlock down the corridor.

'I can make toast and put jam on it,' he smiled.

'Oooh yes please.' Sherlock glanced up at John, battering his eyelashes.

John grinned and bent down to meet Sherlock, their lips connecting awkwardly upside down. Sherlock moaned, working his lips roughly against John's and sliding a hand to the base of his neck. John moved his lips against Sherlock's, his tongue darting out to greet Sherlock's. The sensation of kissing upside down was wonderful, but the feeling of their tongues meeting upside down was bloody glorious. Sherlock pulled away as John wheeled him into the kitchen. He looked on at John as he began to search for some jam and let out a low whistle.

'Hard already?' he questioned in amusement.

'Nope,' John smirked, heading to the fridge to get milk. 'It only looks like it because my pants are wet from my cum and they're sticking to my cock, so you can see everything. It's a very unpleasant feeling, cum in your pants.' John shifted and grimaced.

'I can only imagine,' Sherlock purred. 'And I was the one who made you cum. You have no idea how that makes me feel.'

John blushed and adjusted his pants, his eyes widening slightly to realise that he _was_ in fact hard and his pants were clean.

_Bugger, I forgot I changed them already,_ he sighed. He shrugged and straightened up, grabbing the milk from the massive fridge and heading back over to Sherlock.

'How does it make you feel?' he asked quietly, sitting the milk on the counter as he searched for cups and plates. 'Knowing that you, a previously inexperienced virgin, can make me cum in my pants like a bloody teenager?'

Sherlock tilted his head to one side. 'Like I've finally found my purpose in life and the place I belong.'

John stilled. He hadn't expected an answer like that. _He feels like he belongs with me?_ John felt tears of joy prick in his eyes and he sniffled. He wiped his eyes with the heel of his hand and turned to face his love.

'You belong with me, Sherlock,' he choked out. 'Always have, always will, and nothing will change that. We... We were made for each other. I never used to put much stock in the whole soul mates thing, but that is what you are. My soul mate. And I love you, so much.' He'd started crying halfway through, but they weren't tears of guilt or sorrow, they were tears of pure, unadulterated bliss. And in order to make Sherlock know that he knelt down to his level and kissed him softly, quickly turning it into a kiss of passion.

Sherlock drew John against him as he kissed the beautiful man that fate had destined him with back. He held him tightly for what felt like eternity. He wasn't willing to let go of John any time soon.

'You and me – forever,' he said in a gasping breath, leaning his head against John.

'Yes, Sherlock. You and me, together, for all eternity,' John whispered, placing a gentle kiss on his forehead. 'Now let's get that toast and jam going, shall we?'

'Yes, then I'll show you my lab as promised,' Sherlock said. 'It was the place where my early experiments took place.'

'And what sorts of experiments did you do?' John asked, popping the bread in the toaster. 'Anything as gruesome as the ones at the flat?'

'Hardly,' Sherlock snorted. 'Mummy would have never allowed such things. Though there were the occasional dissected rats and frogs.'

John laughed and jumped slightly when the toast popped up. 'So what did you do in your lab, then?' he asked, popping more bread into the toaster and then spreading jam on the fresh toast. 'Chemical reactions? See how long it took an ice cube to melt in just above freezing temperatures?'

'I mainly just hid and kept myself to myself.' Sherlock twiddled his thumbs and stared aimlessly into space as he carefully let himself delve into his past.

'So it was like your mind palace, but it wasn't in your mind?' John mused, pursing his lips. 'Where you could escape and be yourself without anyone judging you. You were safe there.'

Sherlock blinked twice and turned to John. 'Yes–' He paused. 'Safe. What a funny little word that is.'

'Was that...' John paused, not really wanting to bring it up. 'Was that where you went to escape from... from your father?' he asked softly.

Sherlock was suddenly wildly alert and he gave John a smile. It wasn't like the smiles he usually gave the world: the smiles that said he was practically a god, that he was unbreakable and untouchable. It was a smile that he only used when he was around John. This was a smile of a man who was never truly OK, who was haunted by ghosts long dead, and who had been beaten, not just physically but emotionally too.

'It was where I escaped everything,' he said simply. 'It was also for Mother's sake. I don't think she could have lived through another explosion in Mycroft's room. Which of course was where my experiments usually took place before the lab was built.'

John smiled softly and knelt down in front of Sherlock. He wasn't sure what he should say, so he let his actions do the talking. He carded his fingers through Sherlock's curls, resting his palm against his cheek, his thumb caressing his cheek soothingly. His eyes were soft, understanding, and let him know that John was there. John would always be there for his Sherlock, no matter what.

Sherlock shrugged. 'It was the past, John. There's no turning back. I have you now at least. That numbs my pain a little.'

'I wish there was something more I could do,' John whispered, resting his forehead on Sherlock's. 'I wish I could just take away the pain, make everything OK.'

Sherlock's lips twitched in amusement. 'You could perhaps try and not completely murder the toast.'

'Wha–?' John turned and saw black smoke pouring from the toaster. 'Shit!' He rushed over and popped the toast from the toaster. It was pitch black and smoking. John groaned rubbed his face in his hands, trying not to laugh but it bubbled in his chest nonetheless.

Sherlock sniggered. 'And I thought you were the domestic one out of the two of us.'

'It takes a certain level of skill to fuck up toast,' John smirked. 'You should be proud you have found a person with such skill.'

'I'm always proud of you,' Sherlock said sincerely. 'I always have been.'

'And I've always been proud of you,' John smiled. 'Your brilliant deductions, your beautiful mind, your emotional violin playing, even your crazy experiments. There will never be a day where I am not proud of you, of everything you do, and everything you don't. You infuriate me sometimes, but I love you nonetheless and you make me proud every single day.'

'It's a wonder it took us so long to get hold of each other's pants. Sorry to put it so forwardly but that _is_ how we ended up together. Or you would have if I hadn't ripped them,' Sherlock pouted. 'They were one of my favorite pair of pants too.'

'I can buy you more,' John said, putting more bread in the toaster, hoping he wouldn't fuck up that batch. 'They really looked good on you. And, if I may be so forward, they felt fantastic on my bare arse.'

Sherlock wriggled his eyebrows and made a low growling sound. 'What a shame my cock had to go and ruin them.'

'Yes, quite a shame,' John hummed, paying no mind to Sherlock's seduction technique. He popped the toast from the toaster and smiled when it popped up golden brown instead of pitch black. He put in two more slices for good measure and spread the jam on the fresh toast. 'Like I said, I can buy you more. Silk, am I right?'

'Actually I was considering going commando from now on. When I'm with you I won't be needing any pants.' His eyes creased in the corners as he watched John turn a deep shade of pink and if he wasn't very much mistaken John had actually shrieked a little bit under his breath, reminding him very much of the fangirls. John cursed himself. Sherlock was keeping his promise to tease him into submission, but John was doing his best to ignore it. He swallowed around his arousal, blatantly obvious in his pajama bottoms.

'You do that, yeah,' he choked out. 'I may as well do the same. I mean, if we're just going to be at each other like animals we might as well spare one layer of clothing.' He smirked slightly and put jam on the last two pieces of toast. He put them all on a large plate, poured them both a large glass of milk, and set everything on the table. He wheeled Sherlock over to the table and sat across from him.

'Now, eat,' he commanded, taking a bite out of a piece toast, some jam dribbling down his chin.

'You have a little something.' Sherlock pointed out John's chin before taking great pride in licking the jam off of the doctor's slight stubble. He let his eyes wander to John's crotch and bit back laughter at John's clear state of arousal. Picking up a piece of toast he chewed it and threw back his head. He moaned as the jam set his taste buds on fire.

'Tastes so good,' he muttered under his breath.

John blushed deep red at Sherlock's daring move. His tongue was soft and warm against his chin, his cock going from half hard to full on erect at the contact. It was straining even in the loose fabric of the pajama bottoms. He swallowed his bite of toast rather roughly, unable to eat any more as Sherlock threw his head back and moaned rather obscenely. John whimpered slightly and pressed the heel of his hand to his erection, crossing his legs in the hope it would quell the pressure in his groin.

'Oh, I am sorry John. Have I got you in a rather "hard" situation?' Sherlock chuckled. He continued to eat his jam on toast and all the while he was making the most unusual noises varying from light moans to deep panting.

'Oh, I hate you,' John ground out, his eyes bright with mischief despite his tone.

'No, you really don't,' Sherlock stated. 'For that I might just have to make the sex ban a little longer.'

John groaned and threw his head back, cursing himself. 'By the end of this I really _will_ hate you. And I'll hate myself too. But when this is over I'm going to bloody love you.'

'I should bloody hope that you'll love me.' Sherlock chewed on his lower lip adorably.

'You had better fucking _ravish_ me when this is over,' John pouted, finally attempting to take another bite of toast. The jam was absolutely delicious and John moaned, closing his eyes to savor the taste.

'Believe me when I say I have big plans for us,' Sherlock chided. _Big in every sense of the word_, he thought silently to himself.

'Good. That might make this torture worth it,' John smirked. He took a rather large bite of toast and sighed around it. The jam, he couldn't get enough of it.

'Yes, quite,' he hummed and ate as much as his stomach would take.

'John?' Sherlock mused. 'Do you think that after all this is over you'll want to meet my mother?' It was a bit of a random question but it had been playing on Sherlock's mind.

John looked up from his mouthful of toast, surprised at Sherlock's question.

'You... want me to meet your mother?' he asked.

'Yes, I would like that.' Sherlock leaned forwards and linked his fingers with John. 'I've never brought anyone I know to meet her, let alone someone I am in a relationship with. And you are a very special part of my life now so...'

John smiled and squeezed Sherlock's hand. 'I would be honoured to meet your mother,' he smiled. 'I would ask you to meet my parents, but, well, you know.'

'Yes, I know,' Sherlock nodded in understanding. 'Though you may need to control those erections of yours. I am rather afraid that she might have a heart attack if she learnt of the greater details of our activities.' He stared intensely at John's still prominent arousal, licking his lips and groaning loudly.

John smirked and glared at his lover. 'It won't be nearly as noticeable in proper trousers. And I honestly don't think you would moan so obscenely in front of your dear mummy.'

'I wouldn't be able to help myself.' Sherlock shifted in his wheelchair. 'You just look so delicious.'

'I know I'm delicious,' John smirked. 'And if I could get away with it I would try to give you an erection in front of your dear Mummy Holmes as well.'

'I... Well, I suppose it can't be nearly as awkward as her finding Mycroft in bed with another man in the middle of sex,' Sherlock snorted, his lips quivering.

'Mycroft... I didn't... Oh my god, really?!' John spluttered, trying to hide his grin and failing miserably.

'Yes. My brother has always been certain of his sexuality. In fact, at the moment I'm fairly sure he's sleeping with Lestrade.' Sherlock shriveled up his nose at the unpleasant thought.

'Oh my god! Really?' John couldn't hold back the laugh that time. 'But... But Lestrade isn't... Is he? Well, he must be if he's sleeping with your brother. Or maybe he's bisexual, like me. Well, I guess I'm more Holmes-sexual, but only to a certain Holmes.'

'He's bisexual,' Sherlock grinned. 'And I should bloody hope I'm the only Holmes to fall in your category. So where does that leave me?' He tilted his head. 'I guess I just have a fetish for army men. It's the feeling of authority. It's a big turn on.'

'I'll definitely be using my Captain Watson side against you,' John smirked. 'I may even have to pull rank.' He grinned cheekily and took his final bite of toast with a rather harsh crunch and stood up straight, his Captain eyes boring into Sherlock's. 'Now, let's go see your first laboratory, shall we?'

'Yes sir! Whatever you say sir! You're so sexy when you go all captain mode sir!' Sherlock saluted John, his face set in a deadly serious expression.

'Control that enthusiasm, _Private,_' John growled. 'It may get you injured, or worse, killed one day. Rein that in, that's an order.'

Sherlock flinched and reared back slightly, pressing himself as far into his chair as he could go. 'Sorry sir.' His voice actually trembled. _Pull yourself together! It's only John for goodness sake! _

'Good man,' John grinned. 'You'll want to keep a level head if you are to survive. Now, direct me to this laboratory and we'll have a little fun.'

'Fun?' Sherlock swallowed down hard. 'We have a fun ban, remember?' Still, he didn't hesitate in directing John where to go. 'It's at the very end of the hall.'

'Did I _stutter,_ Private?' John growled in Sherlock's ear, a hand sneaking down to Sherlock's thigh and squeezing. 'We may be banned from having _that_ kind of fun, but you have fun experimenting and I have fun watching you. So,' he pushed Sherlock through the doors and wheeled him over to a table. 'Experiment, love. Have fun. Don't be bored.'

'How can I be bored?' Sherlock said softy. 'I have you.'

'Yes, but I won't let you run experiments on me. Only if I agree or volunteer first,' John smirked. 'So, experiment, love. Maybe try to make that Viagra concoction again, but the non-hallucinogen version.'

'And I was so looking forward to seeing my fairy friends again,' he giggled. 'I'll see what I can do.'

'No more fairies, please,' John groaned. 'I love you, but when you're around your fairy friends you're more of an annoying prick than usual. I think they're a bad influence on you.' John hopped up on one of the tables and sat atop it.

'Let's watch the great Sherlock Holmes in experiment mode, shall we?' he grinned. 'This will give you some good practice on wheeling yourself around too. Think of it as an experiment.'

And so Sherlock began to experiment with all sorts of chemicals resulting in quite a few explosions.

Exactly seven days passed like this.

Sherlock would throw some chemicals together and let out a maddening laugh and John would watch him like he was the most fascinating thing in the universe, and for once everything felt as though it was going to be OK. He even became quite skillful in wheeling himself around.

It was the seventh day of experimenting and Sherlock had managed to form what in theory should be a safe drug for him and John to use. He'd managed to make it a liquid form too. It would definitely make the drug easier to administer when drank in say, milk or tea, rather than sniffing fumes like the first time he had created such a drug.

However Sherlock may have neglected to tell John about the fact he was storing the drug in a milk carton in the fridge, so when he wheeled himself into the main living room of the Holmes manor house and saw John drinking some particularly milky coffee he couldn't help but freeze. _Well John did say he wanted to be a guinea pig in the hospital. Now is his chance._

If his research over the past week was anything to go by Sherlock had exactly half an hour before the drug took effect and John would notice. He decided in that moment until it was blatantly obvious to John that he had consumed the Viagra drug he wouldn't say a thing.

* * *

Finals week has begun! My first test is tomorrow morning. And this time next week I will be back home in my own bed and no internet connection or cable. FML. But I will do my best to get out to the library next week to post the next chapter. If I can't get it posted I'll post something on my tumblr about it, seeing as I can at least do that from my phone. But for now let's all plan on meeting back here next Monday.

Thanks for reading and leave a review! They're always fun to receive and read. Have a great week!

TSA + IB


	11. It's Been One Week

Sorry for the delay guys. My brother's birthday was yesterday and I couldn't get out of the house. But here's the next chapter. It's got lots of smut in it, so I hope it makes up for being a day late.

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock

Me: John

_Warnings for this chapter: drug experimentation, smut, men going at it, dom/sub military role play_

* * *

Chapter 11 – It's Been One Week Since You Looked At Me

Seven whole days went by with Sherlock experimenting. He would only stop to eat and sleep when John dragged him away, but that became harder as Sherlock got better at wheeling himself away at breakneck speeds. John would finally give up after a while of endless chasing and retreat to their room, where Sherlock would be sleeping in the morning when John woke up without fail.

Seven whole days went by without any form of seduction from Sherlock whatsoever as well. Every now and again he would moan out something and John would react, but they were all unintentional. Whenever things got a little too 'hard' for the doctor he would always get up and explore the manor. It was a massive house, and there were so many rooms to explore. He imagined it must have been an interesting place to grow up at, finding all the nooks and crannies as a child, secret hiding places, going on adventures. He could imagine Sherlock as a child doing all those things, growing bored when he'd found all the best hiding spots, and then turning to blowing things up in Mycroft's room.

He wandered into the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee. He needed something a lot stronger than tea, and coffee with a splash of milk would do the job. As the coffee brewed he went to the fridge to get the milk. Everything was gourmet, nothing but the best for the Holmes family. Was it even possible to purchase gourmet milk? Apparently it was, as the milk was a brand he didn't recognise but he just shrugged and set it out by his mug. It tasted divine in his coffee and he hummed at the flavours swirling around on his tongue. He sat on a sofa and cracked open a paper he'd read dozens of times. For safety purposes the delivery had been canceled. As he was reading he heard Sherlock wheel in and settle near him.

'You know, Sherlock, it's been a week,' he said, taking a rather large gulp of coffee. 'I think you're strong enough to walk around now.'

Sherlock hummed and pushed himself upwards nervously. He slowly but surely began to step towards John. He smiled gleefully as his legs actually worked for the first time in what felt like eternity. He slumped on the sofa beside John.

'It feels good to be up and about. Not that trying to see how fast I could wheel myself around the manor wasn't any fun.' John smiled and nodded, still reading the paper intently. Sherlock eyed his lover carefully, noting each stage John's body was going through because of the drug he'd drank.

Stage 1: He seemed to be a little hot under the collar. A thin sheen of sweat was forming on his skin.

Stage 2: He was turning red. A hot flush was creeping from his cheeks, down his neck and beyond.

Stage 3: His breathing pattern was changing. It sounded ragged and heavy.

Stage 4: He was starting to visibly fidget in his seat.

Stage 5: This stage was pretty self explanatory. A visible lump was starting to form in John's trousers.

Sherlock stayed completely indifferent however. 'Is there any milk left?' he asked, standing a little too quickly and making his way to his wheelchair. 'Don't look at me like that. This a far more fun mode of transport.'

He didn't want to be around for stage six.

Stage six he presumed was for John to become a mass of hormones and it was likely that he'd be a little bit angry too.

'Well, at least you made it to the sofa,' John smiled, crossing his legs and shifting in his seat. 'And yes, there's still milk left. That gourmet stuff tastes off today just so you know.'

He took another sip of his coffee and wrinkled his nose in distaste. The milk really was off, so he sat the mug aside. He shifted again and whimpered, pressing the heel of his hand to his crotch.

_How the hell did this happen? Am I so starved of Sherlock's touch that I get hard if he's simply in the room? Jesus fucking Christ, get a hold of yourself.  
_  
He pressed down harder but the pressure didn't quell his still growing erection. It did the exact opposite. It felt bloody fantastic and John couldn't stop the moan as he threw his head back against the couch and began rutting into his hand. As he neared his release a lingering thought rose to the surface of his mind and his eyes snapped open.

'Sherlock!' he yelled, standing abruptly and wincing at the pressure on his groin. 'Sherlock! You son of a bitch! Did you drug me?'

Sherlock flinched as he heard John yell out. He reversed into the room, biting his lip and wincing as he faced his outraged lover.

'Would it help if I said it was an accident?' He stayed a wary distance away and watched for John's next move.

The army doctor was as bright red as a tomato and was clearly struggling to stand with the ever growing bulge in his trousers. John was panting by now and trembling. Sherlock swallowed thickly, expecting more yelling but instead John sat promptly back down and placed a pillow between his legs. It was a clear effort to stop his erection but it obviously wasn't working as he began to fidget. In fact he was practically humping the poor unsuspecting pillow now.

'You couldn't have warned me that you had finished, let alone that it was being stored in the god damn milk carton?' John grit out, trying very hard to stop his hips from moving.

'You had better do something about this, _Private,_' he growled, smirking yet glaring in Sherlock's direction. 'Make that an _order,_ Private Holmes.'

Sherlock wheeled himself over to John and manoeuvered out of his chair and onto his lover's lap, removing the offensive pillow.

'Please go easy on me Captain,' he pleaded softly, whimpering as John's arousal pushed against him. His body was still healing after all, and he knew neither he nor John wanted a repeat of what had happened in the shower. And even without his stitches he still ached all over.

'A Captain will always take care of his soldier,' John whispered in Sherlock's ear, stroking his bum gently. 'So long as the soldier follows all orders given and pleases his Captain, understood?' John squeezed Sherlock's bum tightly, pulling him against his drugged erection.

'O-kay,' Sherlock replied, voice vibrating. 'What's your first order sir?' he questioned, rubbing himself against John frantically.

'Lavish me with that talented tongue of yours, Private,' John smirked. 'Mark your Captain so everyone will know who I control.'

Sherlock pushed his hand through John's hair, noting that it had grown considerably longer and was due a haircut, but the detective quite liked it like that. Rugged just like the man it belonged to. He teasingly tilted his head and began to kiss the underside of John's jaw, slowly working his way up to his lips. At first he kissed John slowly but it soon turned into what was quite possibly the most spectacular kiss that John and he had ever shared.

John moaned into the kiss and tangled his fingers in Sherlock's curls. They were longer than the last time he had run his fingers through them, and they provided him with more grip, which he liked. He bucked up against Sherlock, thrusting his tongue into Sherlock's mouth, tasting him and also somewhat hoping Sherlock would get some residual transfer of the drug from his tongue.

He broke away from the kiss, gasping for air. He smiled up at the ceiling as he caught his breath.

'Very good, Private Holmes. A stellar performance. Now,' he looked at Sherlock and with his best authoritative voice gave Sherlock his next command. 'Get on your knees and between my legs. Help your Captain alleviate the pressure in his trousers.'

'No,' Sherlock growled under his breath, now moving his mouth's attention to John's neck. He bared his teeth before plunging in and biting him so hard that he could taste a faint trickle of blood in his mouth. 'Not yet sir.'

'Are you... Oh fuuuuck,' he groaned, shivering against Sherlock's aggressive bite. He yanked Sherlock by his hair, his teeth scraping against his skin.

'You just defied a _direct order_ from your Captain, _Private,_' he growled. 'I'm going to have to punish you for that.' He pulled Sherlock off him and stood them up, setting Sherlock on his knees and bending him over the couch. His hand traced over his arse before yanking Sherlock's trousers down until they sat around his knees.

'Now how much do you think would be a proper punishment Private Holmes?' John asked, his palm caressing Sherlock's bare arse, pinching it slightly.

'What are you going to do Jonathan? Teach me a lesson that I'll never forget?' he sneered, wriggling his bottom in the air.

'I could penetrate you without preparation beforehand if you'd prefer,' John growled, slapping Sherlock's bare arse harshly. 'And you are to call me Captain or Sir only, do you understand?'

'Yes sir.' Sherlock rolled his eyes. He turned around to face his Captain with a challenge written across his face. 'You won't do it,' he stated.

'No, I won't. Because I asked you if you would prefer it. I never said I was actually going to do it.' John loomed over Sherlock and grasped his chin, forcing him to look up at him while also wiping the smug look of satisfaction off his face.

'Now, pull your trousers back on, and then take mine off,' John ordered.

Sherlock snorted. 'You'll have to catch me first,' he stated, not pulling his trousers on but unbending himself and popping back into his wheelchair. 'That is if the Captain can run.' He started to wheel away. Oh how he was enjoying this.

'I've had to run with worse pain!' John shouted after Sherlock as he sped down the hall. He adjusted his erection, hissing slightly, and ran after his childish lover. 'When I catch you I am throwing you on your bed and I am going to cover your body with mine until you cooperate and then I am going to fuck your face so hard your jaw will be sore for a week!'

'I'd like to see you try!' he yelled back, chuckling.

'Oh, I most certainly will!' John yelled, rounding a corner and nearly colliding with Sherlock's chair. He missed completely and ran after the speeding figure. 'I've had plenty of time to explore this house and I know the halls! And I _will_ catch you!'

'Ah, but you don't know _all_ of this house! I have my ways!' Sherlock called back. 'So I would suggest paying me a little respect because your problem is not going to go anywhere.'

He turned a sharp corner and to John's point of view simply disappeared. Of course in reality he had taken one of the house's secret passageways.

'You are a horrible sub!' John shouted, stopping in the hallway to catch his breath and hold his groin. Fuck that hurt.

'For fucks sake, Sherlock! It's only a game! You can be the boss of me again once it's over! God damn it.' He hissed and sucked in a deep breath.

'I could always take care of this myself you know!' he shouted in frustration. 'I don't always need you in order to have an orgasm.'

_Yes, but I give you the best damn orgasms. –SH_

John nearly jumped out of his skin when his mobile chimed.

'Sherlock stop being a fucking child!' he yelled, opening the message anyway. He blushed and swallowed, palming his erection. He sent Sherlock a text of his own, knowing his voice wouldn't be able to hold the authority he wanted it to if he tried to speak. He was too damn aroused and it would have come out as a choked whisper.

_I'm going to your room. If you're not there in two minutes I'm starting without you. –JW_

John limped down the hall to Sherlock's room, lying on his back across Sherlock's whole bed, waiting.

Exactly twenty minutes later Sherlock entered his bedroom, laughing at the sight before him. He climbed onto the bed, eyeing John appreciatively. He moved a hand to grope John as hard as he could.

'So, am I still a child sir?' he questioned.

John jerked awake, not even realising he had fallen asleep. He rubbed his hands on his face and checked his mobile for the time. He smirked slightly when he realised Sherlock was late.

'I said two minutes, Sherlock, not twenty. You're late. And believe me, if I hadn't fallen asleep I would be buck naked and wanking by now. I may have even been done and asleep for real.'

'I haven't been completely idle, John. Look at my cock more closely.' Sherlock yanked John's trousers down and groped him again. 'I decided to help myself to some coffee.'

John hissed as Sherlock's cool hand wrapped around his hot cock. He craned his neck to look at Sherlock's trousers and grinned when he saw the very impressive tent in it. He hooked a leg over one of Sherlock's and flipped their positions, being mindful of Sherlock's ribs.

'So Private Holmes, are you ready to obey your Captain now?'

'Yes sir,' Sherlock said, hanging his jaw wide open.

'Good man,' John grinned, pulling Sherlock up so he could sit properly. 'Now, suck,' he ordered, positioning his prick in front of Sherlock's open mouth. Sherlock pulled John into his mouth, teasing him into a melted mess with his tongue. John moaned and melted into Sherlock. He had a skillful mouth, that was for sure. Whether it was spewing deductions, insulting Anderson, or pleasuring John, it was always good at what it did and it always gave more than one hundred percent.

John thrust into Sherlock's mouth, gripping his hair to hold his head still. Sherlock laughed as he sucked harder, dragging John further down his throat. _Come to me John. Come to me,_ he thought as he watched the older man's face. John groaned and panted, thrusting deeper into Sherlock's throat.

'So close, so close,' he gasped, throwing his head back in ecstasy.

When John came Sherlock almost gagged. His cum tasted exactly like the Viagra formula but saltier. He realised that to his horror he had now both drank the formula and swallowed John's cum. Oh this was going to bite him on the arse big time.

He pulled back, licking his lips before moving to kiss John so his lover could taste himself.

John moaned into Sherlock's mouth, tasting himself on his tongue. He laced his fingers in Sherlock's hair and pulled him closer, not wanting the kiss to end. He was so starved of Sherlock's touch he would probably curl around him possessively in his sleep.

'Good job Private Holmes,' he whispered against Sherlock's lips. 'You took excellent care of your Captain. Now, let your Captain take care of you.' He palmed Sherlock's erection through his trousers and grinned at the small whimper that escaped from his lover's lips.

Sherlock thrust himself into John's hand. 'Ahh,' he groaned. His movements became erratic and he kissed John harder. John broke the kiss abruptly and pushed Sherlock down onto the mattress. He loomed over him for a moment, admiring him in his debauched and lust-ridden haze. Without saying a word he slid down the mattress until he was between Sherlock's legs, his mouth hovering over his very prominent erection.

John grabbed the hem of Sherlock's trousers and slowly pulled them down, freeing his erection from its fabric cage and releasing it into the cool air. He continued his slow movements until the trousers were around Sherlock's ankles. Only then did he rip them from Sherlock's body and toss them aside.

He skirted his hands up Sherlock's legs, reveling in the fact that Sherlock was so aroused he was trembling. He hummed appreciatively and pushed Sherlock's legs apart, revealing his arse and cock in all their respective glory. He grabbed the base of Sherlock's cock and squeezed gently before sucking the head into his mouth, licking and sucking Sherlock into a pliant mess.

'Fu-John!' Sherlock exclaimed. He shook under John's influence. He bucked upwards so hard that John almost pulled back. 'Sorry,' he moaned. 'S-orry.'

'It's fine, Sherlock,' John said, running his hand up and down Sherlock's cock. 'It _has_ been a week, after all. Plus that Viagra drug you concocted has everything feeling even better than it normally would.'

He reached for the side table and opened the drawer, pulling out a bottle of lube. He grinned at Sherlock's wide-eyed expression and leaned in to whisper, 'A Captain is always prepared.' He sunk back down between Sherlock's legs and opened the tube, squeezing a fair amount onto his fingers before swirling them around Sherlock's quivering entrance.

'How long is this drug supposed to last anyway?' he asked nonchalantly as he pushed a finger inside, his mouth going back to Sherlock's cock and sucking lightly.

'Well, um...' Sherlock licked his lips in anticipation. 'I gathered from our previous experience that it would allow us two to three releases each.'

John hummed and sucked Sherlock further into his mouth, his tongue lapping the underside of his cock. He added a second finger to Sherlock's arse and scissored them, stretching and preparing him.

'Hhmmm.' Sherlock bit down hard on his lip. 'So tal–' He gasped. '–ented.'

John smiled and added one more finger, just to be sure. That Viagra drug may not have engorged his prick as bad as last time, but it was definitely larger. And he wanted Sherlock to be comfortable when he finally entered him.

He sucked down more of Sherlock's cock, the head hitting the back of his throat. He wasn't going to risk deep throating him at the moment, so he just sucked and swallowed minutely, teasing him.

Sherlock's eyes rolled to the back of his skull as John continued to tease him.

'I think it would be a suitable time to move on to stage two now sir.' He managed to get out that one coherent sentence before beginning to quite literally whimper. 'Take me.'

John released Sherlock's cock with an obscene pop. He grinned maliciously as he curled his fingers to find Sherlock's prostate and stroked it lightly.

'Does my gorgeous Private Holmes want his Captain's cock?' he whispered huskily.

Sherlock grunted in reply, his mouth hanging agape. His entire body tensed in apprehension but he nodded eagerly. God yes. After everything that had gone on in the past few weeks he wanted nothing more.

'Use your voice soldier,' John growled. 'Beg for it. Convince me of how badly you want it. How much you need it.' He grabbed Sherlock's cock and stroked.

'Please sir,' he whispered. 'I need this. I need you.'

'Tell me,' John whispered. 'How bad? Tell me, please.' John was on the edge again and he hadn't even touched his cock. He hated drawing it out, especially after a week of nothing, but he needed to know.

Tears shone in Sherlock's eyes. 'I need this more than anything. I've thought about this–' Sherlock groaned. 'Every single day since–' He panted harshly. 'Moriarty came and–' He didn't need to say anything else. He looked at John, seeing pure understanding in his eyes.

John captured Sherlock's lips with his, kissing him slowly despite the urgency running through their veins. He gripped Sherlock's hips and hoisted them up so his arse met his prick, sheathing himself inside in one slow push.

Sherlock pushed downwards on John. 'Don't – be afraid,' he hissed, 'to hurt me.' He recaptured John's lips, kissing him a little bit rougher.

John groaned and pulled out slightly to push back in quickly. The moan that spilled from his lover's lips broke him from his reverie and he gripped Sherlock's hips tighter, pulling him flush against him. He rocked his hips slowly at first, building up to when he would become far rougher. Their bodies writhed against each other. Their breaths mingled and their heartbeats raced to form a beautiful melody. This was bliss.

John panted harshly, his lungs gasping for breath. He thrust into Sherlock, unrelenting, driving them both to the edge of pure bliss. He grasped Sherlock's cock and squeezed, wanking him in time to his thrusts.

'Are you going to cum for your Captain?' he whispered, thrusting harder.

'Yes sir,' Sherlock grunted, letting his body unravel and follow John's order to the exact letter.

Sherlock's orgasm was earth shattering. His entire body shook, his back arched off the bed allowing John's cock to delve further inside, his cock shot thick ropes of cum across his stomach and chest, and his arse clenched tightly around John's cock causing him to go over the edge as well.

John clenched his eyes shut and his mouth fell open from the force of his orgasm. He thrust deep inside Sherlock, holding himself there until he shook from the exertion. He finally released his grip on Sherlock's hips and slid out, collapsing beside him.

'I needed that too,' he said into the mattress. 'God damn I needed that. It was all I thought about after Moriarty. Not the sex, but wishing everything could go back to the way they were. When we were happy and safe. Well,' he snorted. 'We're never safe, not with our line of work. But when we were happy, blissfully happy, honeymoon happy.'

'Honeymoon happy? For that we would have to married John,' Sherlock panted. 'But I gather what you mean.'

'I realise that, Sherlock. And believe me, it's crossed my mind.' He turned to face Sherlock, a blush creeping across his cheeks.

Sherlock hummed. 'What? Marriage?' he asked in surprise. 'You want to marry me?'

John blushed deeper and nodded. 'Yes, actually. I do. I've given it a lot of thought over the past week, had a lot of time to myself and my thoughts. I thought about you frequently, how my life had changed so drastically since meeting you, but changed for the better. It was exciting, stressful, and dangerous; everything I needed it to be. And you were at the center of it all. You have become my world, Sherlock. And while we already share our lives together, I suppose...' He paused, swallowing as his mouth had suddenly gone dry. He stared at Sherlock, his heart beating faster, clarifying what he already knew.

'I suppose I would like to make it official,' he said, taking Sherlock's hand in his. 'So, Sherlock Holmes, would you make me the happiest man alive and marry me?'

Sherlock chuckled softly. 'I think you're utterly barking mad, John.' He tugged his arms around the army doctor impossibly tight. 'But then mad's good. Mad's not boring.' He sighed happily against John's chest. 'I would be most honoured to marry you John. You have completed me in so many ways and this one last thing, marriage...' Oh how that word sounded strange on his lips. Sherlock had long ago given up on the idea of marriage but now with John it seemed right.

'It would bind us for eternity. So yes. Yes, John Hamish Watson. I will marry you.'

John smiled and buried his face in Sherlock's chest. _He said yes, he actually said yes._ He sat up, tears of joy falling down his cheeks, and held Sherlock's face in his hands.

'I love you,' he said, a few tears splashing onto Sherlock's face. 'I love you so much.'

'You've turned me into a housewife, John,' Sherlock joked, placing the lightest of kisses to his now fiancé's lips.

'Trust me when I say I'm the more emotional of the two of us,' John smiled against Sherlock's lips. 'I think I'm the housewife in our relationship.'

Sherlock snorted, biting back laughter. 'You have no idea what sort of images are passing through my mind right now.'

'I have a pretty good idea,' John snorted. 'Me working around the house all day, cleaning and cooking waiting for you to arrive with a "Honey! I'm home!" And I think I'm wearing some sort of apron in there as well.'

Sherlock burst into hysterical laughter. 'Yup. That pretty much sums up what's going on in my mind palace right now. Oh god that sounds terrible!' he cried out. 'I didn't mean that there's a miniature version of you in my mind cleaning my palace. I just – shutting up right now.'

'You have a little John who cleans your mind?' John grinned. 'I hope he leaves dirty images and thoughts in there every now and again.'

'I have a room specifically for it, yes,' Sherlock grinned. 'You were wrong you know. You're not the happiest man alive. I am.'

John nuzzled the underside of Sherlock's jaw with his nose, humming in content. 'How about we share? We are both the happiest men in the world.'

'Most definitely the happiest men in the world,' Sherlock agreed, running his hand over John's belly.

John hummed and pressed light kisses to Sherlock's jaw, linking their hands on his stomach.

'So, you up for round two?' he asked, snaking their hands to their groins.

'Go to sleep my gorgeous little teddy bear,' he whispered softly, squeezing John's hand.

'But... You only came once,' he pouted. 'I had two. And that's not fair in my eyes. At least let me give you one more. Please.'

'You're clearly exhausted John. Over exertion isn't good for you. I don't want to push you,' Sherlock replied gently.

John snickered, his head resting on Sherlock's shoulder. 'Coming from the man with the cracked ribs,' he sighed, snuggling closer. He took a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut despite his best efforts.

'I love you,' he whispered into the crook of Sherlock's neck, squeezing his hand slightly.

'Night, night my sweet teddy bear,' Sherlock reiterated. 'I'll see you in the morning.'

John clutched tighter to his fiancé (oh how he loved being able to call Sherlock that) as he fell asleep, images of suits and bow ties and flowers dancing through his dreams.

**…::-::…**

When Sherlock awoke he knew that he should have felt elated, on top of the world even. For he had said yes to marrying John and they had a hell of a lot of life ahead of them to look forward to. Instead, he found himself feeling like shit. He felt uncomfortably hot and was shivering so much the feeling was leaving him drained and as weak as a kitten.

John shifted uncomfortably. The bed was vibrating and he wanted it to stop. He cracked an eye open to see what the hell was going on and his gaze fell on Sherlock. He had his legs pulled to his chest, his arms wrapped around them to hold them in position, and his entire body was shaking.

'Sh'lock?' John mumbled sleepily. 'Sh'lock, you alright? You're shaking love.' He brushed Sherlock's curls off his damp forehead and placed the back of his hand on it, assessing his temperature. 'And you're burning up. Are you sick or is this an unexpected side effect of the drug?'

'I don't think it's a drug side effect, John. You'd be experiencing the same symptoms if that were the case.' He winced at the sound of his voice. It was ragged and hoarse.

'Right, of course, yeah,' John spluttered. What happened to all his medical training? He should have known that. He should know the difference between a side effect and the common cold.

'You sound terrible, love,' he whispered, caressing his face. 'I'll get you some medicine and soup, alright?'

'Don't leave,' Sherlock whimpered, uncurling from himself and tugging John tightly to him. 'You're the only medicine I need.'

'Ok,' John said softly, tenderly wrapping his arms around Sherlock. 'Ok, I'll stay.' He rested his head under Sherlock's chin and closed his eyes, almost falling asleep again but he forced himself to stay awake.

'John, can you help me to the bathroom?' Sherlock pleaded softly, almost sorry to disturb him. 'I don't feel too good.'

'Of course,' John nodded, untangling himself from Sherlock's gangly limbs and climbing out of bed. He grasped Sherlock by the hands and helped him up, guiding him to the bathroom slowly. Sherlock quite literally collapsed in front of the toilet. He then proceeded, much to his horror and disgust, to be violently sick. John just ran a soothing hand across Sherlock's back, not knowing what else to do as Sherlock's heaving wracked his entire body.

Sherlock moaned in relief when his wretching died down. 'Ehh.' He wrinkled up his nose, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth. John peeled Sherlock's sweaty curls from his forehead, his other hand still drawing soothing patterns on his back.

'Do you feel a little better after all that?'

'Worse,' Sherlock sighed loudly. 'Much worse.'

'Oh, love,' John sighed, smoothing Sherlock's hair out of his face. 'Do you think a shower or a bath might help? We could try to regulate your temperature and then go back to bed.'

Sherlock nodded weakly. 'A bath would probably be the best option.'

'Alright,' John nodded. 'You just... Here.' He helped Sherlock up and moved him to the tub, sitting him on the edge. He wasn't wearing any pants or trousers, so all John had to do was remove the shirt. As soon as his skin met the cool air goosebumps crawled over his arms and he shivered.

John turned on the tap, making sure the water was warm enough before setting the plug in the drain so the tub would fill with the warm water.

'Now, would you like bubbles with your bath?' John smirked.

'Bubbles please.' Sherlock offered John a huge smile even if it was a little strained on his face. John smiled back, reaching around for the bubbles and pouring a nice amount into the bath. As the water frothed he stripped himself of his own t-shirt, goosebumps forming on his own arms. He helped Sherlock into the water before joining him, sitting behind him so Sherlock could rest comfortably against his chest. Once the tub was full enough he turned off the water and they just soaked in the warm water and bubbles.

Sherlock leaned his entire weight onto John's chest and moaned, closing his eyes, almost finding himself going back to sleep. John sighed and began to relax. His left hand twined with Sherlock's beneath the water, his right stroking Sherlock's hair back from his face, petting him almost. It was the most relaxed and calm he had felt since Moriarty, and it was almost too good to be true. But he was going to enjoy those little moments of peace while they lasted; who knew how long they had until something came up? Whether it was a case or Sherlock blowing something up in the kitchen, or the like, the calm before the storm was very calm indeed.

He settled against Sherlock's back, his head leaning against the back of the tub, his hand continued to pet Sherlock soothingly, and his other squeezed Sherlock's reassuringly under the water.

It was very peaceful indeed and John found himself nodding off every now and again. They would need to get back into bed before they fell asleep in the tub and risked drowning. The water was cooling but Sherlock's body was warm against his, so John decided that a few more minutes wouldn't hurt. It was all too peaceful and serene to abandon.

'I don't understand.' Sherlock broke the serenity. 'How am I this ill overnight?' he asked before breaking into a fit of coughing.

'It happens from time to time,' John said softly, holding Sherlock until he stopped coughing. 'A particular strain of the bacteria that works faster, or one that starts slowly and suddenly it's on you all at once.' He eased Sherlock back until he was resting on his chest again. 'And it could very well be a reaction to your drug. Not only did you take it in coffee but you swallowed my cum and we both know what that does.' He shuddered at the memory of the pain but smiled at everything else that had happened. 'It's possible your body is fighting it, whatever it is, but it could very well still be a rather severe cold or flu.'

'Whatever it is I feel like... I don't even know how to describe it. Like shit.' He shuddered and pressed himself closer to John's cool body.

'I know, love. I know,' John said softly, petting him soothingly. 'It will pass, maybe not quickly, but it will.' Sherlock was still burning up. Maybe it would do him some good to lie in the cool water.

'John, I've had a numerous amount of colds and strains of flu. I have a weak immune system. I have ever since I was a child. This doesn't feel like either of those.' He turned to gaze into the doctor's eyes.

'You would tell me if you thought it to be anything else, wouldn't you? I don't like to be mollycoddled and lied to.'

'Of course, Sherlock,' John sighed, his eyes raking over Sherlock's frame. 'Honestly, I think maybe you cooked something up while you were experimenting. We haven't gone outside at all, we haven't even left this house since the hospital. So unless you caught something there, which is entirely possible, I think you created something in your lab and this is what you got.' He looked over Sherlock once again, his doctorly gaze sweeping over him.

'If I do have any suspicions about it being anything other than a severe cold or flu, I will let you know, alright?'

Sherlock snorted but nodded. 'I don't know what you think I've been doing but I have not been creating a super bug.' He shivered, teeth clattering together. 'Perhaps we should go back to bed now. I'll try to sleep it off.'

'Sounds good to me,' John smiled. 'But I wouldn't put it past you to create a super bug. I think you could do it.'

He eased Sherlock off him and stood, stepping out and then pulling the plug to drain the water. As the water level fell John towelled himself off, then slowly helped Sherlock out of the water and towelled him as well.

'Let's get you in some warmer pyjamas and into bed.'

Sherlock grunted, complying with John as he found some thick, silk pyjamas and gently helped him into them.

'Do you want me to stay with you?' John asked as he helped Sherlock into the covers.

Sherlock shrugged, his eyes flickering shut. 'You can do as you please. You are probably in need of some breakfast so go and eat. I'll still be here when you come back.'

'Alright,' John said softly, brushing Sherlock's curls off his forehead while noting his temperature had gone down slightly. It wasn't much, but it was better than before.

'Get some sleep, love. I'm going to eat, then I'll come back here and join you.'

'Ok,' Sherlock whispered softly, falling into a deep sleep, snoring heavily.

John smiled and made to put on some pyjama clothes of his own before puttering out to the kitchen. He wasn't all that hungry, but he made himself some jam on toast with a glass of milk, being careful not to drink the Viagra solution again.

As he ate he thought about Sherlock's symptoms. High fever, chills, upset stomach, and vomiting. All of it had suddenly turned up overnight, and if Sherlock were a woman John would assume he was pregnant. But even at that, if he had gotten pregnant the very first time they had sex he would only be a little over a week along and that wasn't nearly enough time for symptoms to show. John laughed at the absurdity of the idea. Sherlock pregnant? That would be a sight to see. But Sherlock wasn't a woman, he didn't have a womb, and he couldn't exactly rewrite his biology to give him one, so it was impossible for him to be pregnant in the slightest. John shrugged as he ate the last of his toast, put the plate and cup in the sink, and went back to Sherlock's room.

Sherlock was sprawled across the bed, one arm tossed over the side where John would be, the other tucked under his head as a sort of pillow. He was snoring quite heavily and John couldn't help but smile at the sight. No, definitely not pregnant, just a severe flu. He'd get some fluids into him later, but for now he would let him sleep. John crawled into bed, draping Sherlock's arm over his chest and the man instantly pulled himself closer, snuggling into John's chest.

'I really do think it's just the flu, Sherlock,' he whispered to the sleeping man. 'You say you have a weak immune system, so anything you get is going to be worse than someone who actually has a working immune system. But I'll take care of you, I promise. I'll get you better, and then... I don't know. We'll probably end up having sex again but we need to find something to do. We can't stay cooped up here forever. We'll have to leave at some point, in disguise I suppose. And then I can take you out to dinner like I promised that first night together. You remember? Yes, I'll take you to dinner. I'll propose properly, with a ring this time, and then we can make love all night long. Does that sound good to you?'

Sherlock merely snored in response, burying his face in John's shirt. 'I'll take that as a yes,' John smiled. He closed his eyes and listened to Sherlock's snores, falling asleep to the steady rhythm of their chests rising and falling in unison.

* * *

Don't worry guys. This isn't about to turn into an mpreg fic (if that isn't your cup of tea, you're safe. if it is, sorry to disappoint, but this isn't exactly an omega!verse AU). But our Sherlock is beginning to feel very poorly. We'll see why next chapter. I'll try to get out this upcoming Monday to post it. And then the _Star Trek into Darkness_ premiere will be upon us! I can't wait! My mom is going to buy one of those popcorn buckets that are free to refill all through the summer but you have to pay like $30 for it but it has BENEDICT on it so I have to have it.

Sorry. Rambling. But I will do my best to post the next chapter on an actual Monday. See you then!

TSA +IB


	12. Who Are You?

Hey look! An update on an actual Monday! Albeit a little late on a Monday, but still a Monday.

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Mycroft

Me: John, Rory (no, this is not about to turn into a Wholock fic. Sorry. I just couldn't resist adding Rory in.)

_Warnings for this chapter: some violence and aggression, lots of angst, and a little bit of John/Mycroft bonding._

* * *

Chapter 12 – Who Are You?

Sherlock was aware of several things.

1. His heart rate was far too fast.

2. His temperature had increased.

3. His entire body felt as though it were on fire.

4. This was like no case of cold or flu than he can recall of.

5. It was becoming increasingly harder to breath.

And 6. His mind felt strange. It was as though his mind palace was under some form of attack.

The one thing that Sherlock did miss was the text messages sent to John's phone. For if he hadn't have missed them he would have a far brighter idea of what was going on.

_My little brother is gravely ill, isn't he? Shall I send assistance? –MH_

_Well, well Johnny boy. What have we got here? Is our beloved detective feeling a little out of sorts? –JM_

John groaned as his mobile chimed, rather loudly too. He didn't remember turning it up that high. Luckily it didn't wake Sherlock; he was still sound asleep although he appeared distressed and a thin sheen of sweat was forming on his body.

'Oh Sherlock,' John sighed. His mobile chimed again and he swore, turning over to grab it. The first message was from Mycroft, asking if they wanted help. Understandable as he probably had surveillance around and in the entire house.

The second made his stomach drop and his heart stop in his chest. Moriarty. How had Moriarty gotten his number, let alone how he had found where they were and how Sherlock was feeling?

'Stupid, stupid!' he spat. Moriarty probably had people everywhere willing and ready to do his bidding. He wouldn't be surprised if a man or two who worked for Mycroft were under Moriarty's influence somehow.

He dialled Mycroft's number and before the man could even speak John spit out, 'We have a very serious situation and I don't mean Sherlock being ill. Moriarty knows we're here.'

Mycroft swallowed thickly on the other end of the line. 'I don't understand. I have the premises under high surveillance.' He exhaled loudly. 'I'll be there within the hour. How's he holding up?'

'Sherlock's fine. Still sleeping. But there's only so much I can do with the limited supplies I have. We need to get out of here and Sherlock will need to be looked at. I think it's a severe flu, but with the threat of Moriarty I wouldn't put it past him to have done something without us knowing. Sherlock said it himself, he's a spider, and his web reaches very far. I wouldn't be surprised if there was someone who worked for you who had ties to him.' John was fuming. He hadn't been so scared since the last time Moriarty made an appearance; but this time was different.

'Just get here, get us out, _fix this,_' John hissed, ending the call.

'My?' Sherlock mumbled in his sleep. 'Is that you? I swear if it is I'm hiding your cream donut supply.'

'No, Sherlock, it's John,' he sighed. 'Go back to sleep, okay? Mycroft isn't here.' _Yet._

Sherlock opened his eyes and was met with a blurry figure blocking his line of sight.

'My!' he snapped, batting the figure away. 'Go. Or do you want me to threaten your cake supply too?' He groaned, blinking sleepily. 'You're not My.' He suddenly sat bolt upright. 'Who are you?' He prodded the figure, swaying from side to side. 'Who are you?' he repeated, starting to panic. John added hallucinations, confusion, and disorientation to his mental list of symptoms. He laid his hands gently on Sherlock's shoulders and spoke softly.

'It's me, John,' he said. 'Your flatmate, best friend, fiancé. Just, calm down. Everything is going to be alright. I won't hurt you.'

Sherlock flinched away from the blurred figure. 'Don't touch me!' he practically screamed, shoving the figure so hard that it fell onto the floor with a loud thud. 'I haven't got a flatmate let alone a friend or a fiancé. Now get out!'

John rubbed the back of his head as he sat up. Sherlock was stronger than he gave him credit for. He added memory loss to his list of symptoms.

'I'm not leaving, Sherlock,' he said, looking up at him from the floor. 'You're sick, I'm taking care of you, whether you want me to or not. Now–' He stood up and pinned Sherlock to the bed, forcing all his weight on him. 'Stay still and shut the fuck up. Help is on the way, whether you want it or not.'

Sherlock looked up at the stranger with terrified eyes. 'What do you want from me?' he croaked. 'Who the hell are you?'

'My name is John Watson. I was a medic in Afghanistan. I am a soldier, a doctor, but most importantly I am your friend,' he ground out. 'I don't want anything from you, I just want to help. Your mind is clouded, you aren't seeing or remembering properly, and I have help on the way. So please, let me help you.'

'It's not as if you're giving me much choice "John." If that is your name,' Sherlock spat out, struggling beneath the weight of the intruder. 'I swear if you're working for my brother I'll, I'll–' He was cut off as a violent shudder ran through his body. '–I'll kill you,' he muttered as his eyes did a somersault in his skull and everything went pitch black.

'Fuck,' John spat as Sherlock went limp in his hands. 'Why does he always black out?' He released Sherlock's wrists and sat up, grabbing his mobile again. He dialled Mycroft, fuming already.

Mycroft answered the phone, trying to swallow down the panic rising in his chest. 'John. Has he worsened? I'm not far away. Help is coming too.'

'He doesn't remember who I am,' John swallowed, trying to hide his own panic. 'He thought I was you for a minute, then he realised I wasn't you but he didn't remember me. He... He attacked me, and now he's blacked out and... Mycroft what is going on?' He couldn't hide the panic anymore. He choked on his words, trying to speak around the lump in his throat. 'I don't know what to do. Just... Just hurry.'

'I don't know but I intend to find out. Stay calm. I'll get my driver to take a short cut. I won't be long,' Mycroft replied curtly.

'Thank you,' John choked out. God dammit he hated being so emotional. 'Hurry, please. Hurry.' He threw his phone on the bed, not bothering to end the call. He looked down at Sherlock's unconscious form and cried harder.

'What's going on, Sherlock,' he sobbed. 'What's wrong? I don't know. I can't help. I feel useless, not being able to help. I'm a doctor god dammit! I should be able to help but I can't! I can't help. I can't.'

He knelt over Sherlock, stroking a hand through his hair. 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'

Mycroft Holmes hurried through the manor house to Sherlock's old bedroom. He smiled fondly at the childish sign still pinned to the door preventing any 'Mycrofts' from entering. But that happiness was soon wiped away as he saw the pitiful sight that lay before him.

'Ambulance is two minutes away,' Mycroft said softly, not wanting to startle John. John jumped slightly and choked out a sob, wiping his nose on his sleeve. He turned to look at the elder Holmes, tears streaming down his face. He looked at him pitifully, questions swimming in his eyes.

Mycroft walked over to John. 'Can I try something? Sherlock was a sickly child. Always passing out. I learnt a trick to revive him. It might still work.'

'At this point, I'm willing to try anything,' John sniffed. He moved off Sherlock and stood by the bed, wrapping his arms around his chest. Mycroft placed his hand at the base of his little brother's neck with years of expertise and pinched the skin with two fingers. He repeated the action several times and was just about to give up when Sherlock's eyes flew open. John nearly cried in relief. He held himself tighter, not wanting to approach in case Sherlock tried to attack him again.

'Sherlock, can you hear me?' Mycroft asked softly. Sherlock groaned in response.

'Unfortunately,' came the reply a few seconds later.

'Good. Help is on its way.' He stroked Sherlock's hair gently and glanced over to John. John was trembling in relief. He approached slowly, not really scared of Sherlock physically but worried about what he might say.

'Sherlock?' he whispered. 'Sherlock, do you remember me?'

Sherlock frowned and shook his head. 'No. What are you doing in my room?'

'Sherlock, this is John. Surely you remember John? He's here to help you.'

Another shake of the head. 'Who is he My?'

Mycroft sucked in a deep breath. This was worse than he had imagined. 'Someone very important to you.'

_Very important,_ John thought morosely to himself. 'Why can't he remember?' he thought aloud, sniffling.

'I don't know.' Mycroft gripped Sherlock's head in two hands and stared into his eyes. 'Who knows what goes on in that silly mind of his at the best of times?'

It was in that moment that the paramedics finally entered the room. John stood off to the side, not wanting to get in the way. The paramedics approached Sherlock, brushing Mycroft aside to check Sherlock's vitals and reflexes. One shined a bright light in his eyes to check for pupil dilation and the possibility of a concussion. John found it utterly ridiculous. Sherlock had some form of amnesia, not a concussion. What he couldn't figure out was how he got it. They had eaten and drank practically the same things every day, right down to the drug in the coffee. So what had Sherlock done that John hadn't to get him in such a state?

Sherlock was poked and prodded at. He sat there, weak as a kitten, unable to defend himself from the prying and unwanted attention.

One of the medics walked over to John and Mycroft. 'This is like nothing I've seen before. It's as though his body is under attack by some kind of virus. But not only his body his mind too.' He frowned. 'It might be nothing. We're going to have to run a multiple number of tests to get to the bottom of things.'

John swallowed and hugged himself closer. He nodded, afraid to speak, and looked to Mycroft. 'I don't like this,' was written all over his face. Mycroft placed a hand on John's shoulder and squeezed it lightly.

'It'll be ok,' he tried to reassure the almost distraught man. 'I'll give you a lift to the hospital he'll be staying at.'

John nodded and looked down at the floor. 'Thanks,' he swallowed. 'I just... Let me get dressed and I'll meet you in the car.'

'Of course,' Mycroft said in understanding, turning to leave the army doctor in peace. John watched Sherlock be wheeled away and Mycroft followed. He slowly walked over to the wardrobe. He pulled on one of his jumpers and jeans, pulling his shoes on almost in a daze. He didn't even remember leaving the room, let alone the house, and found himself in Mycroft's car as they drove away. He was surprised he hadn't broken yet, but then maybe he already had. He was stoic, detached, unfeeling. He was worried for Sherlock yes, but he felt nothing else.

'John, you know I despise feelings. I really do, but this is my little brother we're talking about. I am not completely heartless. I can see that you care for him, as foolish as that might be. However, I don't blame you. He has a way of either really getting on people's nerves or wriggling into their hearts. Sometimes both.' He exhaled tiredly. 'It's not good to bottle things up when you are not used to doing so. You can cry here if you like. I won't judge you.'

'Sherlock wouldn't want me to,' he almost whispered. 'The last time I did he told me to stop, to not feel guilty, because I was breaking his heart.' He turned to look at Mycroft, his eyes bright despite his best efforts. 'And I would hate to disappoint him yet again.'

'And what about your heart? Hmm? I'm not an idiot, John. Get it out now. You're human, and not one of us Holmes boys. You'll break sooner or later. Best it be here and not in front of my brother,' Mycroft said softly.

'If I crack now I'll crack later. And I'm not going to risk that.' John turned to gaze out the window, watching the scenery pass by in a blur.

'You're far stronger than I thought, John,' Mycroft praised. 'You will tell me, of course, if it gets to be too much.'

'Of course,' John mumbled.

'Do you think this is Moriarty's doing?' John asked. 'I wouldn't put it past him to discover where we were, that must have been easy. But for him to attack Sherlock's mind like this?' He paused. 'What if it's early onset Alzheimer's? Or dementia?' He turned to Mycroft, his eyes shining.

'His mind is the best and most valuable asset Sherlock has. If he loses that he loses himself and... I don't know what I'd do.' The tears came flooding down then and John was powerless to stop them. So much for the so called strength Mycroft said he had. 'I – I would care for him and love him all the same, but how would Sherlock cope? No more cases, no more experiments, no more violin. He would be so bored out of his mind he would probably—' He broke off, choking on his own sobs. Mycroft sighed heavily. He'd known this was coming ever since he had arrived at the Holmes manor house. He brought his arms around to rather awkwardly hug John. It pained him to do so. Mycroft wasn't a particular huggy person, but for John he made an exception.

'We'll work this out. I swear if this is Moriarty's doing I'll–' His voice faltered. He didn't know what he was going to do. John clung to Mycroft, not particularly enjoying the hug but he was glad for it. He sobbed into his shoulder, only mildly concerned about messing up his rather expensive suit.

'If this – if this is Moriarty,' John choked out, 'I'm gonna find him. I'm gonna find him – and I'm gonna kill him.'

'You aren't thinking straight, John. He would most likely get to you before you get to him.' Mycroft swallowed. 'And then who would Sherlock have? His big brother whom he simply hates. I know how I would feel if I lost the man that I lo– Never mind.' He shook his head. 'Leave it to me. I'll be sure to have his head on a stake.'

John nodded and released his grip. He wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve and sat back in his seat. Mycroft was right. He couldn't be so stupid to go after Moriarty alone. Sherlock would have no one because no one loved him as much as John did. Mrs Hudson loved him like a son but even Sherlock could test her patience at the best of times. And Greg merely tolerated him because he helped out on cases.

He shot a side glance to Mycroft and smirked, remembering the comment about losing the man he loved. So, Mycroft was in love with Greg (if they actually were sleeping together, but he knew better than to doubt Sherlock's intuition). He couldn't wait to tell Sherlock. If he would remember him that was. The tears started again and he brought his knees up to his chest, hugging them as he cried.

'It's best to get it out now.' Mycroft rubbed John's back soothingly. 'I am certain my brother's memory loss is not permanent.'

John hated being so damn emotional. He appeared to have the emotional span of a teenage girl compared to the Holmes brothers. He clutched himself tighter, burying his face in his knees.

'How much farther to the hospital?' he asked, his voice muffled.

'We're literally a minute away,' Mycroft reassured him.

John nodded and pressed his face closer to his knees. His eyes hurt from the pressure but he needed the tears to stop. He needed to be strong for Sherlock, and if he was blubbering mess on the floor it wouldn't do either of them any good.

'We're here,' Mycroft whispered, shaking John's shoulder. John's head snapped up and he processed his surroundings. Once he recognised the familiarity of a hospital he couldn't get out of the car fast enough. He scrambled to get a hold of the door handle, shoving the door open with such force it almost bounced back and hit him in the face. He fell from the car, landing on his hands and knees but pulled himself up quickly and ran for the entrance, heading straight for the receptionist's desk.

'A man was just brought in in an ambulance,' he said quickly, his chest heaving. 'Sherlock Holmes, tall, gangly, thin, mop of dark brown curls. He had what we thought was the flu but it turned into confusion and disorientation and memory loss and I just – Where is he? I need to know if he's ok.'

The nurse didn't answer right away. She was too flabbergasted to answer. John found her idiocy unnecessary and unprofessional and he didn't want to deal with an idiot at the moment.

'WHERE IS HE?!' he screamed at her. 'TELL ME! TELL ME WHERE HE IS!'

The nurse jumped and was about to call security when Mycroft finally appeared and grabbed John around the middle and pulled him behind him.

'Excuse my friend's rather – enthusiastic and rude behaviour. You see, my little brother, his–' He paused, not really want to call them boyfriends (such a juvenile term) but not wanting to call them lovers either. '–romantic partner, was brought in not too long ago. We would greatly appreciate it if you could tell us where he is.'

The nurse swallowed and gave them Sherlock's room after a quick search on the computer. John apologised heavily before following Mycroft to the lift and up to Sherlock's room.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock Holmes hated this. The confusion, the searing pain, his befuddled mind. And then there was the sense that he was missing something. Something important. He was attached to all sorts of wires and tubes. Bleeping filled his ears and the smell of disinfectant masking death burned at his nostrils. He had a surge of déjà vu pass through him but dismissed it. It was too hot he decided. Why couldn't he stop shaking? Why had Mycroft sent him here? Did his overweight, sorry excuse of a brother hate him so much?

John stopped in the doorway. Sherlock looked almost as bad as he did after the first Moriarty incident. But this was somehow worse because this wasn't a physical ache; it was mental warfare and Sherlock was losing.

Mycroft walked right past him and to Sherlock's bedside. John let them be, let them talk and figure out where Sherlock was mentally. Sherlock wouldn't remember him anyway, and the ache in his chest at the thought nearly doubled him over in pain. He closed the door behind him and stumbled down the hall until his knees gave out and he collapsed in a heap, drawing his knees up close as the tears came once again.

'My?' Sherlock whispered meekly, gazing on at his brother through glazed eyes.

'Oh, little brother.' Mycroft collapsed by his bedside. 'You have to remember. You have to just try.'

'I can't,' he croaked.

'I know,' Mycroft sighed. That's what scared him.

John remained curled on the floor until a nurse passed by and found him.

'Sir? Sir are you alright?' John blinked and looked up, his vision blurry but he could make out the form of the nurse. A male nurse at that if his voice was anything to go by.

'The love of my life doesn't remember me,' he mumbled quietly.

'Oh. Well, we all feel like that so–'

'No, I mean he actually doesn't remember me. All memory of me is gone. Deleted. Just, erased.'

'Oh.' The nurse was stunned. 'Is he here now?'

John nodded. 'His brother is with him.'

'Shouldn't you be there too?'

'What's the point? He won't remember me. He won't appreciate my being there. He quite literally shoved me out of bed this morning because he didn't remember who I was.'

'Has this been going on for a while? The memory lapses?'

'No. It just cropped up this morning. And it was really severe too. Just out of the blue. First he was hot, then he was cold, then he was sick, then he was tired, and when he woke up he didn't remember me.'

'That's... strange.'

'Tell me about it,' John huffed.

'I still think you should be with him. You never know, sometimes if you're wearing something familiar or you smell familiar it might trigger a memory. Scent is a very powerful memory booster.'

John swallowed and nodded, holding out a hand.

'I'm John,' he said, wiping the tears from his eyes to finally see the male nurse.

'Rory,' the nurse smiled. 'So, where is the love of your life? I'll help you back.'

John smiled weakly and pointed down the hall, Rory supporting him along the way.

'John may come in and see you,' Mycroft said softly to his brother. 'Please be nice.' Sherlock simply scowled at his idiotic brother.

Rory opened the door and guided John inside. Even though he wasn't assigned to Sherlock he checked on him anyway.

'Hello Sherlock,' Rory smiled brightly. 'How are you feeling?' John grimaced slightly, expecting Sherlock to lay it on him, especially in such a distressed and confused state.

'How the hell do you think I'm feeling?!' Sherlock snapped. People were such idiots.

'Sherlock,' Mycroft scolded him.

'John explained everything,' Rory said calmly, grabbing Sherlock's chart and reading through it. 'Apparently you woke up with a fever, chills, and nausea. And somehow that turned to memory loss. Interesting.'

John gave Rory a surprised expression. How had he not cracked under Sherlock's tone? Even he had flinched slightly. Rory looked back at him and smirked.

'Got a snappy girl of my own back home,' he grinned. 'Grew up with her, classic love story, blah, blah, blah.'

Sherlock glared at the nurse. 'It would appear you had a fight with her earlier on. Yes. Classic love story,' he drawled.

'What's love without a few fights?' Rory shrugged. 'Life would be boring without them. And it was my fault anyway. I apologised. She'll thank me later.'

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 'Aren't you curious to how I knew?'

'The wrinkles on my forehead?' Rory guessed. 'I know who you are, Mr Holmes. I'm not an idiot. I read John's blog, and I've visited your website as well. The Science of Deduction,' he grinned. 'I know your methods based on what John's written. But if you want to tell me what you see go right ahead. I welcome it.' He put Sherlock's chart down and adjusted his stance, crossing his arms as he awaited Sherlock to rattle off his deductions.

Sherlock's lips puckered. _Blog?_ He pushed the thought aside. Too tempted to show off as he is a show off and that is what show offs do.

'Your stance is slightly slumped. It indicates stress. That added onto the fact there are exactly six bloodshot lines in your eyes indicates the stress is recent. You are glancing at the clock. Worried about what time you'll be back. Why are you so keen to get back? Well let's see. You smell strongly of woman's perfume. Therefore it belongs to someone you came in contact with today. Presumably by the strength of it someone you are close to. You have a slight bruise on your wrist. Perhaps where you hit something in frustration. Concluding, Rory Williams: you had a fight with the woman that you... love.' He then proceeded to have an immense coughing fit, struggling to even breathe after his rant. Though he couldn't help but notice the John Watson fellow looking on at him in a dazed amazement.

Rory paused to smell his scrubs before Sherlock launched into his coughing fit. He had been right. About everything. He launched back into hospital mode and tried to clear Sherlock's lungs so he could breathe properly. John ran forward as well, instinct kicking in over his fear of Sherlock not wanting his help. Sherlock gasped for air as both Rory and John examined him. His brother, who was suddenly very pale, was watching him carefully. John started panicking as Sherlock still struggled for breath. Acting purely on impulse he tilted Sherlock's head back, plugged his nose, and blew a large breath of air into his mouth.

_You aren't gonna die on me today you pretentious fuck, John swore. Not from struggling to breathe. Not today, not ever.  
_  
Sherlock froze as he felt warm lips with a trace of familiarity buzzing through him. He began to breathe with more ease and the lips moved away. John pulled away, breathless. Rory was smirking at him and Mycroft just looked pale.

'What?' John asked.

'Indeed. What was that?' Sherlock questioned, brows knitting together.

'It was... CPR,' John stammered.

Sherlock snorted. 'CPR my arse!' he exclaimed. 'You kissed me!'

'Sherlock, if it was a kiss you would have known,' John scoffed, trying to play off the hurt. 'I gave you CPR because you couldn't breathe. Nothing more.' He looked up at Mycroft, pain in his eyes.

'Sherlock, perhaps you should rest,' Mycroft suggested.

'No!' Sherlock snapped. 'Not until I have talked to... John?' The man's name came out of his lips as a question.

John looked up expectantly. 'Yes,' he whispered. 'Yes, that's me.'

Sherlock nodded. 'I just need some answers. So can everyone just scootch?' He glanced up at John. He had a friendly sort of face even if Sherlock didn't recognise it.

Rory nodded and led Mycroft from the room, leaving Sherlock and John alone. John's heart was pounding much too fast but he took a deep breath to steady himself. He stayed quiet, knowing Sherlock would want to be the first to speak.

'Who are you? I don't mean your name or what your job is. I mean to me. Who are you John Watson?' Sherlock stared at the older man intensely.

'That's going to take some time to answer,' John breathed, staring intently at Sherlock.

Sherlock grabbed the man's wrist. 'Tell me. Now,' he demanded. John gulped at Sherlock's forcefulness. That was one thing he didn't miss when he and Sherlock became friends.

'At first I was your flatmate. A mutual friend, Mike Stamford, introduced us. We became somewhat friends after our first night together and it took us a while to become real friends. But we did. And then–' He paused. Did Sherlock really want to know everything? The tug on his wrist to continue told him yes.

'Then... things developed further. I... I... developed... feelings... for you. But I didn't do anything about it because I know how much you detest sentiment. One night you got high, some homemade drug that made you see fairies. You... you told me you loved me, so I told you the same. We fought, you got sick, I put you to bed and you asked me to stay. So I did. And in the morning... the drug had a rather unexpected side effect.' John gulped again.

'We... Well, to put it mildly, we shagged like rabbits and we professed our love for each other and then we shagged some more.' He paused, waiting for Sherlock's reaction.

Sherlock searched the stranger's face to see if he was lying. He wasn't. He chuckled despite the situation not being even the slightest bit funny. 'That was putting it mildly?'

'For me, yeah,' John smirked. 'Sorry.' Sherlock shook his head and laughed. It hurt to laugh but it felt so good at the same time.

'It's fine.' He loosened his grip on John's wrist, only holding it loosely now. 'It's all fine.'

John almost wept at those words. They were exactly what he'd said to Sherlock that first night at Angelo's. Did Sherlock have some lingering memory? He pushed it aside to continue his story, only slightly noticing Sherlock was still holding onto his wrist.

'Well, after that we went to work on a case. I'm kind of your assistant. There was a triple homicide and all the victims looked like me. Which was more than a bit not good. It was Moriarty, your greatest nemesis, and he was after you again. Going through me once again. The last time he strapped a vest wired with Semtex to me and threatened to blow me up.

'This time you didn't tell me what was going on, but I already knew. A fellow cop told me about the pattern and I knew. You took me home and we shagged again and you were gone when I woke up. You had gone to your brother's, surprising I know, to get me protection but it didn't go as planned. Mycroft had been attacked but he wasn't too damaged. I called you and got you home, trying to... to give you a blow job to distract you, but your emotions got in the way. We had a row, you stormed out, I broke down, and Moriarty showed up. Took me hostage, called you, and you ran back only to get beaten to a pulp by his henchman.' John sniffed and swallowed down the tears.

'They left after that, Moriarty telling you he owed you a fall. I got you to the hospital, you had surgery, and we cried when you regained consciousness. I stayed with you the entire time, never leaving your side except when your brother arrived. I trusted him. Later I... I actually finished that blow job I rudely interrupted at the flat and we got scolded by a nurse.' John smirked at the memory.

'We got you transferred out and we went to a safe house. Your childhood home. We were there for a week before all this happened. And now you're all caught up.' He looked up at Sherlock, not wanting to make any sudden moves in case it caused Sherlock to release his hold on his wrist. The touch was comforting, giving John hope that his Sherlock was still in there.

Sherlock licked his lips in thought. 'What is wrong with me?' he questioned softly. 'I can't remember life past the manor house. I don't feel too good either. The nurses won't tell me.' He scowled. 'People are stupid.'

'I honestly don't know what's wrong with you Sherlock, and that's what kills me,' John sighed. 'I'm a doctor, it's my job to take care of people, but I can't take care of you. And it physically pains me to see you like this.'

Sherlock smirked. 'I can see what the old me saw in you. You're loyal. I like that.' He ran his fingertips along John's wrist, noting the rapid pulse rate. 'You wanted to kiss me before. Didn't you? I could sense it.'

'That isn't the old you, Sherlock, this version of you is,' John frowned. 'I know my Sherlock is in there somewhere, I just need to figure out how to get you back.'

John stumbled on his words at Sherlock's question though. 'I-I-I...' he gulped, nearly choking on the 'yes' that bubbled up from his chest. 'Yes, I did, but I knew you wouldn't want me to so I didn't after giving you CPR and saving your life. You're welcome, by the way.'

'We could always try,' Sherlock mused. 'I can't remember kissing anyone before. I want to know what it feels like. Plus, you're quite handsome when you're not pinning me to a bed.' He blushed bright red. 'I meant earlier. I can remember you... I didn't mean...' He groaned.

'Shush love,' John whispered, pressing a finger to Sherlock's lips. 'I know what you meant.' He turned his wrist so he was palm to palm with Sherlock, not really holding his hand but giving Sherlock the option if he so wished. He removed his finger from Sherlock's lips and plucked a stray curl off his forehead, resting his fingers gingerly on Sherlock's jaw.

'I would love to kiss you again, I really would. But I want you to be sure.' His heart thundered in his chest as he leaned closer. 'Are you sure you want this?'

Sherlock's heart raced alongside John's. 'I'm not sure of anything anymore,' he said in a hushed tone.

'Then let me ask you this: do you _want_ to kiss me?' John asked in a hushed tone as well, his eyes searching Sherlock's. For what he didn't know, but a smile pulled at the corner of his lip as he saw Sherlock's pupils dilate slightly.

Sherlock moaned pitifully. 'Of that I am certain,' he replied.

'Alright then,' John smiled. He leaned closer, the fingers on Sherlock's jaw snaking around to hold the back of his head, tangling in his curls. He was so close now, Sherlock's breath mixing with his own. He closed his eyes and leaned in the rest of the way, their lips connecting in a soft kiss. John's lips were soft, his lips were welcoming, and most of all his lips were home. He groaned and nipped at the lower lip as instinct told him to. His blood rushed south and pooled into his groin. He paused, not terribly used to that feeling.

'Something wrong?' John asked, his eyes hazy from the little love bite. His gaze saw the tent forming between Sherlock's legs and he smiled. 'That's right, you haven't had one of those yet,' he mused. 'Well, I'll say again what I said the first time: I can help you with that.' He smirked but made no move to do anything in case Sherlock blanched.

'John, this is too fast.' Sherlock poked his arousal as though it would just magically disappear. He frowned. 'The kiss was nice though. I don't mean to shut you down.'

'Alright, I understand,' John let go of Sherlock's hair and backed off. 'But that isn't going to go away on its own. You either have to wank it away or think of something utterly disgusting in order to kill it.'

_He liked the kiss!_ John screamed mentally to himself. _Maybe my Sherlock is still in there!  
_  
_Hmm,_ Sherlock thought, closing his eyes. He shifted through memories. When he hit a particular one where he found a site called tumblr which supported Mystrade he shuddered at the thought of his brother shagging a cop. However, then the memory of discovering Johnlock invaded his mind and of course the fan art. His eyes popped open and he moaned loudly. All he had to do was grab his arousal and he came, much to his embarrassment.

John watched with amazement as Sherlock's entire body shook. In his mind that was the first orgasm of his life, but to John it was a beautiful sight to see.

'How do you feel after that?' he asked, his voice thick with his own arousal. Sherlock wrinkled up his nose. His cheeks were powdered with red.

'Sticky,' he supplied. 'And completely fantastic.'

John smiled. 'Good, that's how you're supposed to feel.' He searched around for a flannel to clean Sherlock. 'As for the sticky part, this should help with that.' He handed him the flannel, not wanting to ask if he could help him clean up.

'Avert your eyes soldier,' Sherlock joked mildly, trying to hide his shyness with humour. John smiled and about-faced, staring at the wall, standing ram-rod straight. His smiled widened when he remembered not too long ago that they had been playing Captain and Soldier.

'It's Captain, actually,' he said to the wall. 'Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers.'

Sherlock chuckled as he cleaned himself up. 'Captain it is,' he grinned. It felt right to laugh and joke around with John but that rightness only lasted for a millisecond before he realised that he really didn't know the man at all. He sighed heavily. 'You know, I hate authority. I hope you're not going to be ordering me around. You'll severely regret it if you do.'

'You weren't complaining last night, Private,' John smirked before he realised what he said. 'Oh shit. Sorry, sorry. God, you don't remember that. Fuck. Just... forget that I said that. Don't... don't hate me for saying that. Please.' He ran his hands over his face, still facing the wall, not only because Sherlock hadn't told him it was ok to turn around but also because he didn't want to face the shock and confusion he knew would be on Sherlock's face.

'You can turn around now, John,' Sherlock said in a low, thought-filled voice. His brow was creased in concentration. He let his cobalt blue eyes flicker over to John. 'I'm not the same man, John. I may look like him but I don't have any of his memories. I can't recall anything. Even the details you've informed me of don't fit within my mind.' His eyebrows scrunched together. 'You must have changed him somewhat for him to go from me to a caring man who would partake in such activities. For me love is a foreign concept and you must forgive me for that.'

John swallowed and nodded, slowly turning to face Sherlock.

'You were an arrogant sod for quite some time when we first met, much like you are now.' He smirked despite himself. 'I'm not entirely sure what I did to change you from that into the man you grew into, one who cared about me and loved me, but I think it started after our first case together. I shot the culprit for you, because you were being an idiot and were about to take a damn suicide pill. But I shot him, saved your life, and I think you saw me in a whole new light after that.

'Your mannerisms didn't change much, you still ran experiments in our kitchen and kept body parts in the fridge with our food, but you acted different around me. Of course, you reverted back into your old self when Lestrade or Mycroft was around, but with me it was different. We were actually able to hold conversations about timing, respecting people's privacy no matter what you deduced about them, and a few times I managed to take you out to dinner without it becoming a complete disaster.'

He looked up at Sherlock with tear filled eyes. 'You always said love was a dangerous disadvantage, that sentiment was a chemical defect found in the losing side. But for the past week you've been on the losing side and I don't think you minded all that much. Because you were with me and I made you happy, a better man, and that was all that mattered. So forgive me if I don't give up hope that the Sherlock I fell in love with might come back to me one day.'

Sherlock's heart sank like a stone in his chest. 'I wouldn't want you to.' He shook his scraggly curls. 'You seem like a nice man. A genuinely nice human being. They're quite rare to come across, you know. I don't doubt that we had something, I don't doubt that we could regain what we had. However, I am high in doubt about whether or not I can be enough for you now. You'll get bored of me or your life will move in a new direction. You'll leave like everyone else in my life has chosen to.'

'Sherlock, I have been in your life for the better part of a year. I'm not about to leave you now, not when you need me more than ever.' He risked approaching him and took Sherlock's hand in his and squeezed it lightly. 'You said yourself that I'm loyal, and I am not going to leave you. Not now, not ever.'

Sherlock stared at John's hand with huge eyes. 'John–' He shivered as the coolness of the older man's touch penetrated through his fever. 'I don't feel too well.' His stomach clenched nastily and his breathing stuttered slightly. 'I feel even worse than when they first brought me in. I–' He grunted, shutting his eyes tightly, swallowing down hard on the rising bile.

John released Sherlock's hand and offered him, as the hospitals so eloquently put it, the Barf Bucket, standing by in case Sherlock should need him. Sherlock began to throw up and oh boy did he throw up. It was disgusting. It smelt wretched and left an odd sort of taste in his mouth. Even after he'd stopped his stomach still felt awful.

'Oh love,' John said under his breath, smoothing Sherlock's curls off his clammy forehead. He went to the sink to get a glass of water, trading Sherlock the bucket for it. He opened the door and handed it to Rory, who was surprisingly still there.

'How's he doing?' Rory asked, taking the bucket without question.

'Not so good. But at least we had a somewhat civil conversation.' John closed the door and turned back to Sherlock who looked pale and frail and scared in the hospital bed.

Sherlock sipped at the water. It didn't help his queasiness in the least but it washed the vile taste in his mouth away. His hands were shaking. He felt weak and tired and hot and sick. And the worst part about that was that he couldn't make sense of how he got in this situation in the first place.

John returned to Sherlock's bedside, pulling up a chair to sit. 'I wish there was more I could do,' he said softly. 'But until your tests come back we're both in the dark.'

'I haven't felt this ill since–' He stopped mid sentence, unsure of if he should continue or of how much John knew of his past.

'I'm not completely in the dark about your past, Sherlock,' John said. 'The darkest thing I've learned so far is what your father did to you. I've seen the scars, both physical and mental, but I'm still not going to leave you.' He rested a hand on Sherlock's sheets. 'But I don't want to pressure you into telling me something you're not comfortable talking about.'

Sherlock shifted, taking on a distant and defensive demeanor. He narrowed his eyes. 'Oh, so I told you about the night he chucked me in the cellar and kept me in there over night? My mother and brother were too idiotic to see why I was always sick. They seemed ignorant to the fact that I was forced to sleep in the cold and the damp. Or maybe they weren't ignorant. Maybe they were just indifferent. Yes, maybe they didn't hear my screams at night from where his fists pounded into my flesh. Maybe they didn't notice my tears or maybe they thought I had something silly like hay fever. Did I tell you about the drugs? The crime I got into because I was sick of being cooped up in a house, restricted by rules that my own father broke? Did I? How well did you know me? Do you even know that... that...' Any normal person would be crying heavily by now but Sherlock stayed completely emotionless. The only emotion showing was pure rage.

'I know about the drugs, but as for everything else...' John paused. Sherlock had made his past with his father seem like it was all simply beatings. He hadn't mentioned torture or being forced to sleep in the cellar, sick and scared and alone. He couldn't believe a small boy had had to go through all that, and that he had resorted to drugs and crime in order to escape. But escape he did.

'It's true that I don't know much about you, but that's just how our relationship has worked. You would read everything there was to know about me and I would get minimal information in return. And I was fine with that, I still am, because I know you don't like to talk about your past and I respect that. I don't delve, I don't pry. I just accept you for who you are, flaws and all.'

He stopped and looked at Sherlock, his eyes bright. 'If you want, go ahead and deduce me. I know you want to, and it's comforting for you, so go ahead and lay it on me. I didn't run the first time and I certainly won't run now.'

Sherlock concentrated for a long while, his lips puckered, his face creased. His eyes widened as his mind was filled with blanks and question marks. 'I can't – I don't understand. I can't read you.' He began to panic, his pupils dilated in fear. 'Why is that? I made a perfectly good deduction about that stupid nurse earlier. So why is it, John Watson, that my mind simply refuses to soak in any detail about you but at the same time is screaming at me to touch you, to kiss you? Why?' He yanked his hair down hard.

'Maybe because, deep down, you remember everything about me. You just have to dig in your mind palace to find it.' He grasped Sherlock's wrists and eased them from his hair. 'As far as the touching and kissing bit, that's probably because, once again, my memory is still in there and you miss my touch and my lips on yours. I certainly miss your touch and kisses. You're a fantastic kisser, by the way.' He gave Sherlock a small smile.

Sherlock laughed lightly and hummed. 'You're not terribly bad yourself.' He gazed upon John with the curiosity of a small child. 'May I?' he asked, reaching a hand towards John's scruffy mop of blonde hair.

'Please,' John smiled. 'Go right ahead.' John's hair was rough and course in Sherlock's hands. He twirled his fingers through it and smiled.

'Did he do this?' he asked sincerely, noting the way John practically purred.

'Yes, you did,' John hummed, leaning into Sherlock's touch. Sherlock moved his fingers about so they were carefully gliding over John's cheeks.

What about this?' he questioned.

John closed his eyes and purred. 'Sometimes, yes.'

'Interesting,' Sherlock supplied. 'Was he rough with you? Or gentle?' He ran his fingers to the underside of John's jaw.

'Both, depending on the situation,' John answered honestly.

'Not too rough I hope,' Sherlock whispered softly. 'You're a very pretty man.'

'No, not too rough,' John hummed. 'Although you did particularly enjoy spanking me once.'

Sherlock flushed a deep red. 'Really?' He paused in thought. 'Hardly surprising though.'

'Why's that?'

Sherlock laughed bitterly. 'Like father like son.'

John froze. 'That's not true.' He scowled. 'You never intentionally hurt me, not for pleasure. Everything was consensual, never against my will.' He grabbed Sherlock's face, running his thumbs across his cheeks.

'You are not your father, Sherlock. You never were and you never will be.'

Sherlock melted into John's touch. He glanced up at John, nodding. 'Does Mycroft know about my father? Have you told him? Or have I told him? Not that he'd particularly care either way.'

'As far as I know, Mycroft doesn't know. You didn't tell him, and it isn't my place to tell him. And you shouldn't underestimate your brother. He cares for you, whether he shows it or not.'

'My brother does not care. My brother has never cared,' Sherlock grunted.

'Your brother was the one who took care of us when Moriarty threatened us. He visited you in the hospital, at your request I might add. And when this memory loss hit he was at the house in less than an hour, an ambulance following behind him.' He forced Sherlock to look at him. 'You might not remember any of it, but your brother was there for you in your time of need. He even let me cry on his shoulder on the way here today. He may not show it often enough, but your brother does care.'

'Then why did he leave me alone?' Sherlock said in a small voice. 'He left to become the government and he never came back. Father was even more irate with Mycroft out of the picture. Whatever he does now won't make up for that.'

'I'm afraid I can't answer that,' John said morosely. He brushed Sherlock's hair from his forehead, petting him soothingly. 'But he's here now, and so am I. And I'll take care of you to the best of my ability. I promise.'

Sherlock's lips quivered into a small smile. 'For that I am forever grateful.' John smiled softly back. He continued to stroke Sherlock's hair, his other hand reaching for one of Sherlock's.

'I'll stay as long as you want me to. I'm not going to leave you, and even if you want me to I'm going to stay. I made a promise to you, a promise of always and forever, for all eternity. And I don't intend on breaking that promise anytime soon.'

Sherlock snorted. 'You make our relationship sound like a marriage.'

'We... We're actually engaged,' John said softly.

Sherlock sank deeper into the hospital bed. 'My head's spinning with all this information,' he groaned loudly.

'Okay, I'll stop,' John sighed. He let go of Sherlock's hand and stopped petting his hair. It took a lot of willpower to do so. 'Is there... Can I get you anything? Make you more comfortable?'

'Sleep,' he smiled gently. 'I just need some sleep.'

'Okay,' John smiled softly. 'I'll... I'll stay here, if you don't mind. Would you like your brother? Never mind. I know you don't.'

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in bed. 'I don't like it when people watch me sleep.'

'Oh,' John frowned, dropping his gaze. 'What if... what if I just turned my back and didn't look at you? Or can I not be in the room at all?'

'John.' Sherlock's voice was strained. 'I'm not going anywhere and I just want some peace. Besides you kind of look like shit. Get a coffee or something. Eat.'

'You haven't changed a bit,' John smiled. 'Okay. You rest, I'll eat.' He was torn between kissing him on the forehead or leaving awkwardly. He was caught between the two so he just sort of stood there awkwardly with his lips pursed.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 'Why are you looking so perplexed?'

'I... I don't know if it's alright if I can give you comforting kisses anymore,' John answered honestly. 'The last time this happened I gave you small kisses before I left to get food, but now–'

'Now you don't know whether I'm going to bite your head off or not about things like this.' Sherlock exhaled. 'You could of course try it out. I give you permission.'

John approached slowly, reaching out for one of Sherlock's hands. The touch calmed him, and he reached out to stroke Sherlock's face with his fingertips. He licked his lips as he leaned in closer, his heart pounding in anticipation and fear. He slowly brought his lips to Sherlock's in a soft kiss and instantly melted against the man, his lips warm and familiar. The kiss was soft but chaste and left Sherlock feeling hot, flustered, and even more confused.

John broke the kiss and rested his forehead against Sherlock's. 'So... Um... Yeah,' he stammered awkwardly. 'I'll eat, you sleep. Ok?'

'Right, er, yeah,' Sherlock muttered under his breath with just as equal awkwardness.

'Is there– Can I– Do– I'll just... go,' John stammered, trying not to rush out the door and slam it behind him. He propped himself against it, trying to steady his breathing. He shooed Rory away, explaining that Sherlock just wanted to rest, and where was Mycroft?

'The café,' Rory explained. 'He only left a few minutes ago so you should be able to find him.'

'A tall ginger man in a suit? Yeah, he'll be pretty easy to find,' John smiled. 'Thanks.' Rory nodded and walked away, but he would probably be back to check on Sherlock, possibly even try to get himself on the duty roster for him.

John pushed himself off the door and walked to the lift, going to the first level to get some food. Mycroft was already there, and they ate and drank in a peaceful yet awkward and strained silence.

Mycroft was the one to break the silence. 'You're not telling me something,' he stated. 'Tell me.'

'What's to tell?' John said morosely, stabbing his fork into his oatmeal rather harshly. 'We talked, I told him who I was to him, it was heated, it was awkward, it was fine.'

Mycroft narrowed his eyes. 'Fine?' He leant back in his chair. 'What did you discuss? It's important that you tell me. We could be missing an important part to the puzzle. Now is not the time for your loyalty to my baby brother. Loyalty might get him killed.'

'He doesn't remember life past the manor house,' John sighed. 'He remembers you leaving to become the government, he remembers your parents, but he doesn't remember 221B or Mrs Hudson or the cases or even me. However, when I asked him to deduce me he couldn't. I was just a big blank to him.'

John looked up at Mycroft and sighed. 'And if you must know he allowed me to kiss him, twice.'

Mycroft's eyes widened uncharacteristically. 'He talked about mother and father and me?' he said, his voice unsteady. 'That is most unusual. The kissing not so much. If he was attached to you romantically before all this then it's likely his subconscious is remembering you.'

'He mostly talked about... your father,' John said, not wanting to give anything away in case Mycroft really didn't know. 'And I made the same assumption about his subconscious as well. He said that his mind was screaming at him to touch me, kiss me, but he couldn't remember anything about me that would explain why.'

Mycroft paled and licked his lips. 'What exactly did he say about our father?'

'I... I'd rather not say. He told me in confidence, both before this all happened and a few moments ago. And if you knew–' John broke off, actually managing to bend his fork it was so cheaply made. 'Did you? Did you know what your father did to him, put him through his entire childhood? And you did nothing?'

'How much does he remember?' Mycroft asked, his voice like venom. Mycroft Holmes was not the type of man to cry but in that moment a single tear rocketed down his cheek.

'Everything, Mycroft,' John spat. 'He remembers everything. Constantly being sick, and cold, and alone. The fear, the pain, the never knowing if he would survive the night. And then when you and your mother did nothing to help, that he remembers with absolute clarity.'

'Then he hasn't told you everything,' Mycroft whispered, lower lip trembling, entire body shaking, on the verge of more tears that were threatening to fall.

'Well then what am I missing Mycroft?' John demanded, his anger blinding him from seeing Mycroft's emotions. 'Because he made it pretty clear that you two were ignorant of everything he was going through. So, tell me, what am I missing that will make this all okay?'

'Sherlock wasn't the only one that my father hurt!' Mycroft exclaimed, flying to his feet so that he was now looming over John. 'He hurt us all. Me, Sherlock, and my mother. We weren't ignorant, we were powerless. I was seven when he started getting nasty – a boy! When I was old enough to understand what was going on, what power he held over us all, I tried to stop him. He was bigger than me, stronger, and when I started standing up for myself he just knocked me back down and he would pound his fists into my chest. He didn't care how badly he hurt us, he didn't care for anything.' He began pounding his fists into the table with brute force. His knuckles turned red raw as he continued to hit it. Tears were rolling down his face. He wasn't crying because he was weak. He was crying because he'd been strong for far too long.

John flinched back. He had his suspicions that their father had harmed them all, but what surprised him was Mycroft's emotions. He'd never seen him cry before, let alone yell in anguish. John was torn between giving the man a hug or being so utterly angry at him for not doing anything after he'd escaped. Why didn't he report his father for child abuse or domestic violence?

In the end he stood up and led Mycroft from the café, sitting him down on a bench and rubbing his back soothingly.

'I'm sorry, I didn't know,' he said softly. 'But after you left, why didn't you report him for the domestic violence or child abuse? Why didn't you do something?'

'I was young and scared without any power. Father was a powerful man. He had many contacts. He said that he would make my life misery if I didn't leave things the hell alone.' Mycroft's face crumpled. 'And so for the first three years I did. I knew I was an idiot, that I should have sought out help. He still terrified me. However, I then came into a far higher power than my father. My contacts reached further than his did. I came back and I made sure he was severely punished. I had him imprisoned for life. I told my mother and Sherlock that he died via heart attack, not that they particularly cared. However by this time the damage had been done and Sherlock was a changed person.'

'So... your father isn't dead?' John asked. 'Sherlock... I told him I wanted to hunt down whoever hurt him, make him feel the pain Sherlock had felt. But he told me he was dead, but he appreciated the offer. And even now, I still want to hunt that fucker down and make him pay, for what he did to your family, but it seems you've done that already. To an extent.'

John paused, his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He wasn't sure what else to say. What did one say in situations like this? He felt as clueless as Sherlock did in normal social situations. His hand never stilled in rubbing Mycroft's back, the motion comforting for them both.

Mycroft's phone gave out a shrill ring, interrupting the emotional moment. 'Excuse me. The work never stops in my line of duty.' He smiled apologetically at John, raising the phone to his ear and answering.

'He's escaped–'

Those were the only words Mycroft needed to hear. He knew who 'he' was. His heart shuddered in his chest and his skin crawled with fear and anger. 'How?' he questioned.

'We don't know. It would seem he had outside contacts still.'

'I see.' His voice trembled. 'And who was on security when he escaped?'

'Jenkins.'

'Ensure that he is fired,' Mycroft snarled down the phone. 'He no longer works for me. Do you understand?'

'Yes sir.'

Mycroft hung the phone up and ran a hand along his tired and warn features. 'Oh John,' he sighed in a terribly defeated tone of voice. 'Our troubles have only just begun.'

* * *

So apparently I didn't edit this completely before I sent it to my RP partner to read over, so I had to edit it all over again before I posted this. 22 pages of editing the transcript thing I use for this. Gah. I'm an idiot. Oh well. I'll do my best to get out again next Monday. Try to get an earlier start too. And I'll make sure my chapter is properly edited before I try to post it.

Have a nice week! See you next Monday.

TSA + IB


	13. Trust

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Mycroft, Moriarty, Seb

Me: John, Greg

_Warnings for this chapter: Sherlock still can't remember, angst, and a tender moment between the Holmes brothers_

_Trigger warnings: suicidal ideations_

* * *

Chapter 13 – Trust

'What? What do you mean? What's going on?' John stared at Mycroft, wide eyed, his heart hammering a mile a minute in his chest.

'Our father. I thought that we were safe. I–' Mycroft's voice wavered dramatically. The government official was losing complete control now.

'Wait... Your father escaped from prison?' John asked. 'But... How did he... Why wait this... How?' he stammered, panic rising in his veins.

'I don't know how. I just know that Sherlock and I are in terrible danger.' Mycroft dropped his head in his hands and let out a small, breathy sob. He really didn't care that John was seeing him breaking down.

'So... So he knows where you are? Or would he return to the manor house? Or would he have contacts to get information about you two?' John was panicking too. Not for himself, but for the Holmes boys. Mainly Sherlock as he'd lost his memory and couldn't remember life outside the manor house. This wouldn't be good at all for him, not good at all.

'He apparently has contacts. He knows where the manor house is. He could be anywhere by now!' Mycroft stood abruptly. 'Oh. I've been stupid. I should have seen this from the moment I saw my brother falling ill.'

'What, you think your father is doing this? Making Sherlock sick?' John asked, standing up himself in case Mycroft walked away in a flourish as he was prone to do.

'It's a possibility.' Mycroft worried at his lower lip. 'I need to try and sort this. It's my responsibility. He's my baby brother. I promised mother I'd keep an eye out for him. I have already failed.'

'How have you failed? He's alive isn't he?' He grasped Mycroft by his shoulders, an incredible feat as John was so much shorter than the elder Holmes, and turned him to face him. 'How can your father be doing this? Does Sherlock have some sort of emotional link to him? Is your father tied to Moriarty in some way?' He paled at the thought. 'That might explain the text I got earlier today.'

'Give me your phone,' Mycroft said, steadying his voice slightly. John was right, to an extent. While Sherlock was still alive he hadn't failed him.

John gave Mycroft his mobile without question, digging it out of his pocket and placing it in the elder Holmes' hands. Mycroft found the number the text had come from and dialled it.

'How's daddy's little boy?'

'Jim, what have you done to my brother?' Mycroft swallowed down hard.

'Oh that? That's just the start. Your brother is dying – slowly. Send him to me. I'll make him all better.'

'Stop this! Stop it now!' Mycroft roared.

'No.'

Jim hung up.

John paled beside Mycroft, swallowing hard and clenching his fists at his side.

'I want to go back to Sherlock's room,' he said thickly. 'I don't want him to be alone, not with the threat of your father looming over our heads. And now Moriarty and his twisted fucking game.' John shook his head. 'He shouldn't be alone. We both need to be there.'

'I can't. You go. Be with him.' Mycroft smiled sweetly despite his inner turmoil. 'I have to be somewhere.' He swallowed down on the thick lump that had formed in his throat. 'Tell him that I am sorry and goodbye.'

'Goodbye? What do you mean?' John paled further, looking as white as a sheet.

'I believe it is a customary way of saying that I am leaving, John,' Mycroft replied. 'You should be off. Don't keep Sherlock waiting.' Mycroft turned stiffly.

'Mycroft!' John called after him. The man stopped and turned stiffly. 'You... You still have my phone,' John stammered. 'And... What did Moriarty say? If he's planning on killing Sherlock, or if Sherlock is already dying, I want to know. I want to make him comfortable and happy. So please, tell me, is Sherlock dying?'

'Yes,' Mycroft replied. 'But he's not dead yet. I am going to stop this but I need your phone to call Moriarty again.' Mycroft turned again. 'Goodbye, Doctor Watson.'

John watched Mycroft leave, waiting until he was out of sight before making his way to the lift. He rode it up to Sherlock's floor in a daze. Sherlock was dying, he was actually dying, and John was powerless to stop it.

He made it to Sherlock's room and paused outside the door. Sherlock said he didn't like people watching him sleep. Was he still asleep or was he awake? Would he want John there? That didn't matter because John would be there for Sherlock whether he wanted him there or not. Was his memory depleting further? How old did he think he was?

Steeling himself he opened the door slowly, gazing upon Sherlock still sleeping in his bed. He sat in a chair in the corner, watching the door in case Sherlock's father showed up. His hand went to the waistband of his jeans and he cursed inwardly when he realised his gun wasn't there. He would just have to fight Father Holmes off with his fists.

He turned to look at Sherlock, sleeping peacefully, before watching the door again. He should probably tell the staff not to allow Daddy Holmes up. He's dangerous and should be apprehended as soon as possible. He nodded to himself, already decided, but he didn't want to leave Sherlock alone again. So he called the receptionist from the room's phone and told them all that he knew. The nurse assured him that they wouldn't let him up if he showed, and he would be arrested on sight.

With that John hung up the phone and watched Sherlock sleep for a moment before his eyes fluttered shut, his head lolling on his chest as he fell asleep.

**…::-::…**

It hadn't taken Mycroft long to find Moriarty. It would seem good old Jim wanted to be found. That was either a good sign or a bad sign.

'Mikey!' the consulting criminal squealed.

'Give me the cure to whatever sickness you have infected my brother with,' Mycroft growled, not wanting to have to go through the usual pleasantries.

'Don't be so boring,' Moriarty smirked. 'What's in it for me?'

'Don't be such a child!' Mycroft snapped.

'My games are far from childish,' the Irishman hissed under his breath. 'Now, may I repeat what I have just said? What is in it for me?'

Mycroft bowed his head. 'Take me instead. Let him live. He's too young for this.'

Jim clapped his hands together in joy. 'That is a kind offer, Mikey.' Jim clicked his fingers and suddenly he wasn't alone.

Mycroft's heart stopped. 'Hello Father,' he said coldly.

'Son,' his father spat viciously.

'Oh this is brilliant! A family reunion,' Moriarty snorted. 'Now Mikey are you sure about this?'

'I'm positive,' Mycroft said with certainty. 'My life for a cure.'

'Very well,' Moriarty laughed and took a step backwards.

His father grinned and before Mycroft could really register it, a bullet was swirling through the air and lodging its way into his chest. He landed on the ground as his blood began gushing out.

'You do know that this deal was only for a cure? He is still going to fall one day, but now you won't be there to catch him.'

Mycroft's world went black.

**…::-::…**

John slept rather uncomfortably. His dreams weren't very pleasant either. Sherlock kept reverting back into a child, both physically and mentally, and John had to care for him until he died. John always woke gasping and on the verge of tears. When he saw Sherlock sleeping peacefully, still the image of the man he loved, he swallowed down the cries and the tears and forced himself back to sleep. The dream was always the same, John taking care of a curious case of Benjamin Button Sherlock Holmes until he woke up in tears.

_How long is Sherlock going to sleep? How long have I been asleep? Has Mycroft been gone long? What's going on with Moriarty and their father? Is everything alright? God I wish I had my phone. I hate being in the dark. Why won't Sherlock wake up? Is he in a coma? Or is he just in the deepest sleep I've ever seen him in? What time is it? Why isn't there a clock in this fucking hospital? God! I need answers! Where's Mycroft? Sherlock! Sherlock, wake up god dammit! I need to know you're still alive! Please, just one more miracle Sherlock, just for me. Don't. Be. Dead. Please, could you do that for me?_

He passed out shortly after, the turmoil in his mind weighing him down and pulling him into the darkness.

Sherlock woke in a cold sweat, jerking up, deadly pale. 'Mycroft!' he screamed. As the hospital surroundings hit him he let out a sigh of relief. It had only been a nightmare. His brother wasn't here. It was just a nightmare. John jumped awake, his hand reaching for the gun that wasn't there. He turned to look at Sherlock who was sitting up gasping in bed, looking sickly and pale.

'Sherlock, is everything alright?' John asked softly, approaching his bed. 'Did you have a nightmare?' Sherlock lunged himself at John, wrapping his arms around his waist tightly.

'Yes, it was just a dream.' He pulled him tighter to him. 'I dreamt that Mycroft got hurt. Badly.'

John was slightly startled at the embrace, but he found it comforting that Sherlock initiated it even though he didn't remember him. He rubbed his back soothingly, his other hand stroking his hair.

'Yes, it was just a dream,' John whispered soothingly. 'Mycroft is fine. He's off at work, finding out how to make you better.'

'Where exactly is he?' Sherlock asked, panicked. 'The dream, it felt real. It was like a physical pain.'

'What exactly did you dream?' John asked, sitting on the bed while still holding onto Sherlock. 'Spare no details.'

'I dreamt that he was shot, bleeding out, scared and so alone,' Sherlock gasped through his sobs.

'Oh love,' John whispered, hugging him closer. 'I know it's only a dream, but did you see who shot him?'

'My father, but that's ridiculous. My father is dead.' Sherlock froze when he realised he was hugging John and pulled away. 'Sorry,' he mumbled. John blanched. Shit. He didn't let go of Sherlock though.

'Yes, he's dead. Which just... Well, it was only a dream. Mycroft is off somewhere, somewhere safe. You know how he is, never telling us anything.' He paused. 'Wait, no, you don't. But, well, that's what he's like. He never tells us anything. But he's safe. I'm sure of it.'

Sherlock leant back in his bed. 'It's funny. The dream felt so real.' He was still shaken up, still trembling.

'I know, love. I know.' John let Sherlock go but he left a comforting hand on his arm. 'Sometimes dreams can feel very real, nightmares especially. For quite a while I had very bad dreams about the war and would wake up screaming. They stopped a little while after I moved in with you. You made me better, and in turn I made you better. I just wish I could make you better now.'

'I wasn't aware that I was in need of healing.' Sherlock glanced away from John. 'Perhaps you could start by finding out my brother's whereabouts.'

Meanwhile, Mycroft was curled up in agony as blood leaked from his wound heavily. He was alone for a very long time but then suddenly he wasn't alone. Gregory was there looming over him, crying, whispering his name, yelling out orders to someone close by, caressing his skin and telling him an ambulance was on its way.

'I would love to, Sherlock, but he's the British Government. He's very good at covering his tracks. Plus, he took my mobile from me, so I have no way of contacting him.' His hand stilled on Sherlock's arm, stopping the circular patterns he hadn't realised he'd been making.

'And I think you need healing, because you can't remember life past your childhood home. You were, what, eighteen when you escaped? You're thirty two now, Sherlock. You got out of there and you survived and thrived and made a name for yourself. The fact that you can't remember that... It's not right because you've lost who you are. You need to know who you are because if you don't, you might never come back.

'And I don't mean just for me. For Mrs Hudson, our landlady who loves you like a son. For Greg Lestrade, Detective Inspector at New Scotland Yard who allows you to help on cases. For your brother who also brings you cases, which you ignore until the last possible minute just to spite him but you solve it in less than half a day. But mostly for yourself, because you need to know who you are, Sherlock. You need to remember the man you've become, how far you have come from the home you grew up in. You are loved, Sherlock. Not just by me, but by everyone who actually knows a decent amount about you and who is stupid enough to care. So yes, you need healing because your mind is sick, and it needs to get better so you can remember and come back.'

Sherlock sighed breathily. 'It's not like I don't want to. I do. Do you really think I'm happy in my current state of mind? It's just–' He frowned. 'It hurts to try to remember.'

'It hurts how?' John frowned.

'It's as though every time I try to remember something that I get blocked by a locked door and I can't find the key.' Sherlock explained. 'It feels as though someone is slicing my mind up like a cake piece by piece.'

_I didn't realise it was that bad,_ John mused to himself. He gently ran his hand up and down Sherlock's arm soothingly. Sherlock licked his lips.

'Kiss me,' he pleaded. 'It helps.'

John's hand stilled once again and he lifted his gaze to meet Sherlock's. If Sherlock still had his memory he would kiss him no problem. But now he had to be careful, go slow in case he changed his mind.

John scootched closer on the bed, trailing his free hand through Sherlock's hair until it settled at the back of his head, twisted in his curls. He moved closer, licking his lips in anticipation and nervousness. When he was close enough he could feel Sherlock's breath on his lips he smiled slightly before he closed the gap between them and their lips connected in a soft but passionate kiss.

Sherlock hummed, finding comfort in the warmth of John's lips writhing against his own. He snaked his arms around John's broad waist and tugged him closer. How was it possible to feel like this with a complete stranger? Suddenly there was yelling from outside – someone was screaming his brother's name. The voice was familiar but he couldn't quite place it. He flinched and pulled away from John, wild eyed.

'Who–' He swallowed. 'Who's that?'

'That... That's Lestrade,' John said, confusion written all over his face. 'But, what's he doing here and why is he screaming for your brother?'

He carefully manoeuvred himself off Sherlock's bed and walked to the door, opening it to see where Greg's yelling was coming from. He listened for a moment before hearing muffled sobs from down the hall. He looked back to Sherlock, who looked worried and pale once more.

'Is it alright if I go find him?' John asked. 'If he's yelling for your brother maybe he can help me find out where he is.'

Sherlock nodded. 'Yes... go ahead,' he replied dumbly.

'I'll be back soon, okay?' John said softly, returning to Sherlock's bedside to place a small kiss to his temple. 'I'll find out what's going on.'

He went out the door and shut it behind him, following the sobs as they got louder and louder. He came to a room that had the door closed and the little curtain in the window closed too. A rather nice way of saying, 'Keep out, do not disturb, I am grieving a loved one.'

John knocked tentatively and the sobs yelled for him to go away.

'Greg? It's John. May I come in?'

No sooner had he said his name then the door was wrenched open and a very red and teary eyed Lestrade was standing before him, enveloping him in a large hug.

'Oh John, I'd heard Sherlock was back in the hospital, and I tried to get away I did, but I had a shit ton of paperwork because of stupid people doing stupid things and then I got a call about a shooting not too far from... from Baker Street and I was worried it was you two but no, it was so much worse,' Greg said quickly despite the sobs wracking his body.

'It's... It's fine, Greg,' John said, wrapping his arms around the DI. 'What um... What brings you here now?'

'Mycroft,' he whimpered.

'What? What happened?' John asked, holding the man out at arm's length.

'Got shot... Chest,' was all Greg managed to mumble before he burst out sobbing again. John paled, remembering Sherlock's dream, and then looked behind Greg into the room.

Mycroft Holmes was lying on the bed, pale as a ghost, hooked up to many tubes and needles, his heart monitor beeping slowly but surely.

_He must have gone after Moriarty, looking for a cure,_ John thought. _Moriarty must have gotten to him first. I just hope he got what he was looking for and that it was worth it.  
_  
Sebastian Moran strolled through the hospital with expert ease. To any normal person he would have just looked like any normal bloke visiting a loved one. However, to anyone who knew better he was the deadliest assassin in the world. When he reached Mycroft Holmes' room he snorted.

'Jim says hi. He said that despite Mycroft's failed offer he's going to play nice and give you Sherlock's cure. Here catch.' He tossed a small vile of liquid at John. He reached out and caught the vile expertly, staring intently at the henchman, his face paling slightly. That was the man who had nearly beaten Sherlock to death. He wanted to kill him, he wanted him dead so much, but he needed answers.

'Mycroft's failed offer? Did he... Did he offer his life for Sherlock's? For a cure?'

'Yes, the idiot,' Sebastian snarled.

_Mycroft you stupid son of a bitch,_ John swore. He glared at the man. Seb.

'And how do I use this?' John asked, holding the vial up. 'Put it in his bloodstream? Have him drink it? What?' He inspected it closely. 'And how do I know I can trust Moriarty? How do I know this isn't poison?'

'Inject it into his blood stream,' Sebastian smirked. 'And why don't you just find out yourself?' John lunged at the man but Lestrade stopped him, grabbing him by the waist.

'Don't be an idiot, John,' he hissed.

'But Greg! That's the man who nearly beat Sherlock to death!' he snarled, struggling to get out of his grip. When he looked up Seb was already gone and John let out a roar of fury. He shoved Greg away, spitting at him to look after his precious Mycroft, and stalked from the room back to Sherlock's. Sherlock instantly felt John's anger as he entered the room once more.

'What's wrong?' He sat up, locking his eyes with John's.

'Lestrade just prevented me from avenging you,' he growled, searching for a needle. 'The man who attacked you was here, threatening you and your brother, and Lestrade held me down so I wouldn't be stupid.' He stabbed the needle into the vial cap and turned it upside down, drawing the liquid into the needle. He flicked at the point a few times to make sure there weren't any air bubbles in it and walked over to the IV solution in Sherlock's arm.

'He gave me this, the thing that's supposed to get your memory back,' he explained, holding the needle up for Sherlock's scrutiny. 'Do you trust me?'

Sherlock swallowed. 'More than is probably healthy for me, yes. I believe I trust you.'

John swallowed and nodded. He inserted the needle into the IV solution and watched it swirl down and into Sherlock's bloodstream. He waited a few minutes, holding his breath. When nothing happened he let out a sigh of relief. If that had been poison Sherlock surely would have reacted by now. So Moriarty had just given over the cure to whatever the fuck Sherlock had? Why? A gesture of good faith in light of Mycroft's stupidity?

Mycroft.

John turned back to Sherlock with sad eyes. 'I found your brother,' he said softly.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed in suspicion. 'What has that idiot done now?'

He could feel the liquid flowing through his veins. It was like ice flowing through him. His teeth chattered. 'Am I supposed to feel this cold?' he complained. John sat on Sherlock's bed and wrapped his arms around him, a preemptive comforting hug but also to provide him warmth.

'I'm not sure about the cold but that's probably the drug moving through your system,' John explained. 'As for your brother, the idiot went and got himself shot, bargaining for the cure I just gave you. And it happened just like in your dream, which both scares and amazes me.'

Sherlock hummed. 'I may hate him but we have a strange bond. We can always tell when one another is in trouble. Is he going to be ok?' Sherlock turned five shades paler.

'As far as I know he's stable but is being closely monitored,' John explained, hugging Sherlock closer. His shaking was getting worse. 'Would you like some extra blankets? You're ice cold, love.'

'No, Jonathan.' Sherlock pushed himself closer into John's arms.

'Jonathan?' the man himself whispered. He looked down at Sherlock and swallowed. 'You... You haven't called me that before. Are you... remembering?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'It felt natural,' he answered. 'John, you said that Mycroft got hurt exactly like my dream. My father's dead. The dead can't shoot.'

Oh fuck.

'Sherlock, there's something you should know,' John said slowly. 'When Mycroft told you your father had died... He lied. He had him imprisoned for life for what he did to you and your family, but he escaped somehow last night. I think Moriarty helped him, and he had your father shoot your brother. I have no proof of that, but from what Mycroft has told me he has indeed escaped and is on the loose.'

Sherlock recoiled from John, sliding inside his mind palace and slamming the door shut. Why would his brother lie? What did John mean by his family? It had been him alone that his father had victimised. Why the hell would Mycroft take a bullet for him? How long till his father came to get him too?

'Sherlock, don't you dare shut me out,' John growled. He grabbed him and shook him roughly, turning him to face him.

'Mycroft told me everything. Why he and your mother did nothing to stop your father. It's because he abused them too. It started with your mother, went on to Mycroft when he was seven, and then to you when you reached the same age. Your father is an abuser, not just to you but your entire family. Mycroft left to become the government but it took him three years to have more ties and become more powerful than your father. He had him incarcerated and told you and your mother that he had died, thinking you two would both be safer thinking he was dead instead of simply locked up. And it worked for quite a while. You were safe from him, but now he's back. And Mycroft went to bargain for your life because he loves you. You may not believe it but he does. I saw him cry earlier today, Sherlock, and I've never seen him show so much emotion before for anyone. He loves you Sherlock and he cares for you. He did everything because he loves you.'

Sherlock blinked in surprise. 'He cried?' he whispered. 'He actually cried? I didn't realise – I wish that I'd known the truth.' John sighed and hugged Sherlock again, enveloping him in his arms and warmth.

'Sometimes we hide things from the ones we love because we want to protect them,' John whispered. 'Lord knows you've done it enough with me.'

'I suppose you're right. I just guess after all these years of hating Mycroft this has kind of upset the boat.' Sherlock practically squeezed the breath from John's lungs.

'Gah! Too tight love, too tight,' John gasped, his hands reaching for Sherlock's to loosen his grip. Sherlock clung to John, more determined than ever. He pressed his face into John's shoulder and exhaled deeply.

'Sher– love, I can't breathe,' John gasped.

His grip loosened ever so slightly. 'Sorry,' he whispered into John's ear.

'It's alright love,' John whispered. He shivered as Sherlock's breath hit his ear, just barely stifling down a moan.

'Now's hardly the time to fulfill your libido,' Sherlock tutted. 'The situation is serious, John.'

'We've done intimate acts in more serious situations than this,' John smirked. 'But you're right. This is a very serious situation.'

'Intimate.' Sherlock shivered. 'I don't know whether that scares me or exhilarates me.'

'Both, I think,' John smiled. 'Because it scares me to death but I also love being intimate with you. You're the first man I've ever been intimate with, and at first it scared me to death. But now it exhilarates me beyond belief and I can't believe I'm lucky enough to have you.' He ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair and inhaled deeply, his hair still smelling of the bath water from last night.

'And what about me? My body's clearly not a virgin anymore but in my mind I'm still one. I suppose that's the scary thing.' Sherlock frowned. 'Was the drug supposed to bring back my memories or just cure me of my physical ailments?'

'It was supposed to bring your memories back,' John said. 'You lost your memories after you fell asleep, we'd... Well, we'd just made love and you fell asleep. You woke up shivering so I gave you a hot bath, then you went to sleep again. And when you woke up you didn't remember me.'

He clutched Sherlock to him and breathed in deep. 'I don't know if you just need to sleep this all off in order to get the drug to work or whatnot, but it couldn't hurt. And I'm going to stay here if you don't mind.'

'No. I want to see him,' Sherlock retorted. 'I'm not sleeping till I have.'

'You want to visit your brother?' John asked, smiling slightly. 'I think I can arrange that yeah.'

'Firstly, does it look bad?' he asked worriedly.

'He looks frail and weak, yes, but you can't see the wound. And there are all sorts of tubes coming out of his body, keeping him stable,' John explained, standing up to grab a wheelchair. 'I know you don't have a weak stomach, but prepare yourself just in case. It's always different with family.'

Sherlock winced. 'When he wakes up I am going to kill him,' he sighed.

John smirked. 'I said the same thing about you a while back.' He wheeled the chair over to Sherlock's bed and held out his hands, offering Sherlock his assistance to get in it. Sherlock shook his head as he was propped up in the wheelchair.

'So there wasn't any sign that he was going to be an idiot? That he was going to risk his life?' he asked, ignoring John's comments.

'Well,' John paused, thinking back. 'After he called Moriarty he... probably shouldn't have been left alone. I didn't think he would go right after Moriarty but... He said that he was going to get Moriarty's head on a stake. I just didn't think he'd be foolish enough to go after him right away. Or that he'd find him so easily.'

'But you suspected he was in some sort of trouble and yet... you let him go alone.' Sherlock turned a deep shade of red and his breathing hitched.

'What was I supposed to do Sherlock? Leave you here alone defenceless?' John demanded. 'I wasn't going to leave you here alone with the threat of your father's return looming over your head. I thought Mycroft wouldn't be so stupid or foolish or reckless, I thought he would bring a team or something with him, but no. He was an idiot and I'm sorry for letting him go but you are my number one priority, Sherlock. I will always be more concerned about your safety than anyone else's, including my own.'

'Don't do that!' Sherlock exclaimed. 'You have no right to decide whose life is worth protecting. The point is I was already in the hospital and it was a trap. My father knew Mycroft would want to protect me so he waited for him. I would have been fine here because they were never coming for me. And as for saying your own life is less important than my own, that is the most moronic thing I have ever heard. Your own life should be your priority because believe me if we're going to go back to how things were I don't want to hear such utter bull. You saw that my brother was in an emotional state and yet once again John you did not observe!' He slapped John's hands away from the wheel chair and began to wheel himself away. He'd find his brother's room by himself.

John was fuming. Sherlock was right but he wasn't ready to admit that just yet. Sherlock was always right... Most of the time. He wasn't going to let him out of his sight though. He wouldn't help him find his brother's room either. He would walk behind him and fume while Sherlock did the same until he either found the room himself or refused to ask for John's help while acting like a petulant child until John finally showed him where the room was. Sherlock kept on wheeling himself down the corridor, ignoring John, glancing about frantically for a sign of where his brother was being kept. It would of course be a private room so that narrowed it down and from there it didn't take him long to find the right room. He pushed the door open, almost scaring the silver haired man leaning over his brother half to death.

'Jesus!' Greg exclaimed. 'Sherlock? What are you–? How are you–? John?' The DI looked up at John utterly confused. John just sighed and shook his head, 'don't ask' written all over his features. Sherlock wheeled himself over to his brother, ignoring the shocked man. It was far, far worse than he could have imagined.

'You're an idiot,' he mumbled under his breath. 'And I hate you.' The words were dead, not filled with their usual venom. 'I would have been fine.'

John stood by the door, closing it behind him. If Moriarty's henchman could get in here then maybe he'd come back. John wasn't going to take that chance. He also wasn't going to interrupt Sherlock when his old self was expressing brotherly emotion for the first time. He motioned for Greg to be silent as well and the man nodded, grasping one of Mycroft's hands and bringing it to his lips.

''I swear that when you wake up I'll kill you.' Sherlock hung his head low and swallowed. 'I might hug you first. Oh I bet you'd love that,' he laughed lightly. 'Just be ok. For me.'

John felt tears prick in his eyes. He'd seen the two Holmes boys show emotion before, but they were always away from each other when it happened. And now here was Sherlock, showing emotion towards his brother. It was a tender moment and John almost hated to be watching it. It should have been private, just the two of them, and he felt like he was intruding.

Sherlock lifted his head. 'Greg, right?' he asked the silver haired man.

The man in question blinked. 'Yeah,' he said slowly. 'But come on Sherlock, you know me. What game are you playing?'

_Oh, that's right. Greg doesn't know,_ John thought. He was still mildly pissed at Sherlock so he kept his mouth shut and let him do the talking.

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably. 'I, yeah, sorry,' he muttered under his breath. 'Just thanks, for finding him.'

'Yeah, it's no problem,' Greg smiled softly. 'The doctors said if I hadn't found him when I did he might have... Bled out.' He swallowed thickly and pressed Mycroft's hand closer to his face, holding it tightly. Sherlock sighed, blinking back tears. When had he become so emotional?

'Like I was saying. I am going to kill him.'

'I'll join you,' Greg smirked. 'The idiot, going out there alone. What the hell was he thinking?'

'He wasn't.' Sherlock's voice broke. 'This is all my fault.'

'Hey, Sherlock, no it's not,' Greg said, locking eyes with him. 'This isn't your doing. You're not the one who shot him. You weren't the one who put him in the hospital. This isn't your fault.'

'Oh but it is,' Sherlock whimpered. 'It's always my fault. Who knows the amount of times he's gotten hurt because of me?' Sherlock clenched his fists tightly. 'The last time I saw him was at the manor house. We had a fight about how I didn't want to stay there because of old memories. Imagine if that had been the last conversation between us.'

John blinked. He didn't tell Sherlock that. Or was it a different time Mycroft had made him stay at their childhood home?

'When was the last time you spoke with him?' Greg asked, gazing down at the ginger man. 'I saw him yesterday. He came in to the precinct, we had lunch. We never have lunch. I should have known something was wrong but I thought he was changing, trying to make me happier. I don't know, but I should have seen it. Why didn't I see it?' He wiped his nose on his sleeve and grasped Mycroft's hand tighter in both of his.

'None of us could have seen it coming.' Sherlock exhaled. 'The last time I saw him was–' His eyes welled up. God it hurt to try and remember. His mind was a jumbled mess of discombobulated memories that were trying to fit back into their rightful places. John could see the gears grinding behind Sherlock's eyes, could see the pain it was causing him to try to remember. Forgetting his petty grievance he stepped forward and placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

'Yesterday,' he supplied. 'He saw him yesterday. But with all the crazy happenings it's understandable if the days have seemed to blur together.'

Greg nodded, wiping his eyes, looking up at Sherlock.

'You should probably go rest,' the D.I. said. 'You look like shit, like it's taking all your energy just to remain upright. We aren't going anywhere. We'll be here when you wake up and you can come back.'

'Every time I go to sleep it would seem something bad happened. I'm not going anywhere,' the curly haired man huffed stubbornly. 'I'll be fine waiting here.'

'That's not true, Sherlock,' John whispered in his ear. 'Our first night together, which you don't remember yet, when you woke up you were blissful and happy.' He rubbed his back soothingly. 'You shouldn't live in fear of bad things happening every time you go to sleep. It happens sometimes but it's not a permanent thing. Please, let's get you back to bed. I can't promise that nothing will happen, but I promise to help you through it if something does.'

Sherlock nodded. 'Ok.' He was too tired to fight John anymore. He turned to Greg and offered out his hand.

'Thank you,' he said again. 'For everything.' The man in question simply stared at his hand like it was an alien object. It took him a moment but Sherlock realised this probably wasn't his usual behavior around Greg. He blinked, sighed and lowered his hand.

'Come on,' he mumbled to John. John nodded and grabbed onto Sherlock's wheelchair. He nodded to Greg and he wheeled Sherlock out of the room and back to his own. He didn't speak, knowing Sherlock was thinking and wouldn't appreciate him interrupting. When they got back to Sherlock's room John helped him into his bed, drawing the covers around him. He ran a hand through his hair, cupping his cheek.

'I'm sorry for the things I said,' he whispered. 'I shouldn't have said those things, but you are the most important person in my life, Sherlock. And there isn't anything I wouldn't do to keep you safe.' He ran his thumb across Sherlock's cheekbone, stroking soothingly.

'Now please, try to get some sleep. I'll wait outside if you aren't comfortable with me in the room while you sleep.'

'Stay,' Sherlock said softly. 'I don't want to be alone. Not now.'

'Alright love,' John said, offering Sherlock a small smile. 'If you need me don't be afraid to holler. When it comes to you I'm a pretty light sleeper.' He pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock's forehead before retreating to the chair in the corner, sitting down and watching Sherlock and the door, just to be safe.

Sherlock laughed loudly. 'Holler.' He closed his eyes and snorted. 'You're not even bothering to hide it now, are you? Holler is a rather erotic word, don't you think?'

John snorted. 'I didn't even mean it like that, but yes, I suppose it is.' He smiled over at his lover, a twinkle in his eyes. 'Normally I would say something along the lines of "If you're good and go to sleep I'll reward you greatly later" but seeing as you don't remember how I reward you I'll just say, go to sleep and we'll see how your memory is in the morning.'

Sherlock giggled. 'My life sounds like a badly written porn novel. The Captain and his Detective. What do you think?'

'God, that _does _sound like a porno,' John laughed. 'I can see it now. "Deduce me like a whore" and "Fuck me like one of your trainees, sir."'

Sherlock chuckled. 'Is that what you are to me John? My little whore,' he cooed playfully.

'Sometimes, yes,' John blushed. 'And you're mine as well.'

'I hope to resume my position sir,' Sherlock sighed, resting his head on the pillow.

'I hope you do too, soldier,' John whispered as Sherlock drifted off to sleep. 'I hope you do too.'

* * *

I honestly don't know what to say about all that. But the antidote Sherlock took will take affect next chapter, and some smut shall ensue. Plus John and Greg will have some bro bonding time as well. Look forward to that. See you next week, and happy Red Pants Monday!

TSA + IB


	14. Conversations

My apologies for not posting this last Monday. We had thunderstorms all week last week and I didn't want to risk traveling to the library in the rain. So, as an apology, I'm posting 2 chapters today. Enjoy!

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Mycroft, Greg

Me: John

_Warnings for this chapter: amnesia, lewd acts in hospital, some inappropriate conversations, and John getting quite frustrated._

* * *

Chapter 14 – Conversations

When Sherlock awoke he felt different. He wasn't quite his lost and confused self but he wasn't his previous self either. Some memories were there and some were blank and then there were others that were just out of reach.

He glanced over to John. He was fast asleep and snoring with his mouth open.

The chair was uncomfortable against his back, he had been sitting so long he couldn't feel his arse, his jaw hurt from sleeping with it open, and his throat was sore and dry from snoring. He woke with a shake of his head, a sound coming from his throat that sounded like a cat coughing up a hairball, and his vision going blurry for a moment before he focused on Sherlock sitting up in his bed.

'Hey,' John yawned, stretching out his arms. 'How are you feeling today?'

'In far better shape,' he replied. 'I remember some things–'

'But?' John supplied. 'I can hear a but coming.'

'Ah, yes it's quite a big but.' He bit his lower lip. 'It would appear not all of them are returning. The damage has been done. They are gone.'

John paled and moved over to Sherlock's bed, sitting down beside him. 'What can't you remember?' he asked softly, his eyes searching Sherlock's. Sherlock shifted closer to John.

'If I knew that then I would be able to remember them. I can just feel it.'

'Right. Right, of course,' John sighed, shifting closer to Sherlock as well. 'Well, I guess I should ask my most important question.' He looked up at Sherlock from under his lashes. 'What can you remember about me? About us?' Sherlock lunged forward so he was pinning John down to the hospital bed. He felt like a new man: strong and powerful and healthy. He stared into his eyes intensely.

'I have some very inconclusive data.'

John gasped and smiled. 'How can I assist in the data collection?' he smirked, wriggling teasingly below Sherlock.

'Let me find every sensitive spot.' Sherlock ground himself against John and licked a line up John's neck.

'Oh god,' John moaned, arching into Sherlock's touch, craning his neck back so Sherlock could explore every nook and cranny. Sherlock rocked against John and pushed down harder, licking his neck faster with each beat his poor over excited heart was pounding out. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock and pulled him closer, his shoes digging into the mattress as he pushed his groin closer to Sherlock's. He threw his head back so Sherlock's tongue could continue exploring. His body wasn't even touching the bed at that point, his back was arched completely off it as he tried to get his body to touch every inch of Sherlock's. Sherlock chuckled. He moved his tongue in small circular movements and began to nip at John's exposed flesh too. He rutted against John in manic, thrashing movements. Small grunts passed his lips and John was making the most endearing of sounds.

'Yes, Sherlock, yes,' John moaned, pushing himself as close to Sherlock as was humanly possible. 'Oh god Sherlock, yes!' He thrust his hips against Sherlock, their cocks sliding against each other through the fabric of their clothes. John moaned obscenities as Sherlock explored his body, storing the data in his mind palace. John snaked a hand down from Sherlock's shoulder to his bum, squeezing just enough to get a tight grip but one that wasn't painful. Sherlock stopped for a moment. It seemed that John wasn't at all happy about that because he was pouting.

'I remembered how you liked dry humping. We were in Lestrade's office and... That's as much as I can remember,' he said softly. 'I remembered something else too.'

'And what's that?' John asked, panting.

Sherlock slid down John's body. 'This.' He grinned from ear to ear as he opened his mouth and clamped it over John's clothed erection.

'Oh fuck!' John exclaimed. He threw an arm over his eyes and thrust his hips into Sherlock's mouth. He was desperate to have Sherlock's mouth around his cock and he whimpered as he thrust, trying to get his cock into Sherlock's mouth through his jeans. Sherlock trailed a hand up John's top, his fingers gliding delicately over the exposed flesh. He pressed his tongue to the throbbing erection. It wouldn't be long now. John was coming undone.

'Oh god, Sherlock,' John gasped, pressing his throbbing cock against Sherlock's tongue. He was so close it hurt. He thrust against Sherlock's mouth once, twice, three times before he bit the heel of his hand and came with a stifled cry, collapsing against the bed as his taut muscles relaxed. Sherlock unpopped his mouth from John with a bemused expression on his face. He sighed and settled back against his pillows, simply staring on at the panting and red faced man.

John closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe. Sherlock had just gotten him off without even properly touching him. As his post-orgasm haze cleared he went through what Sherlock had told him. Remember dry humping at the Yard and having him be putty in his hands (or mouth) that he came in his pants. But was that all Sherlock remembered about their relationship?

He cleared his throat and sat up, his gaze meeting Sherlock's.

'That was bloody wonderful,' he smiled. 'God, I haven't cum that hard in ages. I just... I have a question.' He held Sherlock's gaze, willing him not to break away. 'Is that all you remember about us? Being in Lestrade's office and how to turn me into putty in your hands?'

Sherlock's bliss faded and he frowned. 'I'm trying to recall more, John. I do remember a fight we had a long time ago about how we had to stop acting like a couple because it was giving people the wrong idea.' He cocked his head sideways. 'Do you see what I mean by having inconclusive data on us? Half the time we fight and the other half we shag.'

'We didn't start shagging until last week,' John pointed out. 'But I see what you mean. He shifted and grimaced. The cum in his pants was already cold and it felt disgusting against his skin.

'So you're still remembering bits and pieces about your life past the manor house,' John mused. 'So maybe the antidote takes a little longer to work its way through your system than the initial virus did.'

Sherlock hummed. 'Memory is a delicate thing. Especially for a complicated mind like mine.' John hummed and nodded. With his genius mind it might take longer for Sherlock to regain his memories. And even at that he could probably recall a lost memory months or even years down the road.

'I have one more important question for you.' He turned to look Sherlock in the eye, ignoring the cold feeling in his pants and jeans. 'Do you remember what I asked you the night before all this happened? Or is that all still fuzzy?'

Sherlock nodded. 'How could I forget something like that for long?' he questioned. John smiled, pulling Sherlock into a deep kiss. Sherlock groaned and wrapped his arms around John, nearly gaining his own release as warm lips pushed heavily against his. John slipped his tongue into Sherlock's mouth, flicking it against Sherlock's in greeting. He snaked a hand across Sherlock's thigh, palming his lover's arousal through his pants. Sherlock grabbed John's hand and pressed it tightly to him. He began thrashing himself into the army doctor's touch. One, groan; two, waning moan; three, a growl; four, a squeal as he too came. John swallowed all the delicious sounds that came from Sherlock's mouth. He squeezed his cock lightly after his orgasm and removed his hand, tangling it in Sherlock's curls as he continued to snog his lover.

In the end it was an awkward cough that broke the busy couple. Sherlock's eyes widened as he saw it was Greg. His first instinct was to panic as he remembered his brother was hurt. He lightly pushed himself out from under John and went to stand. However, he had obviously misjudged his limbs' strength as he landed on the floor with an almost sickening thud. John leapt from the bed and helped Sherlock up off the floor, easing him into the wheelchair from last night. He checked him over just to be sure he hadn't broken his nose in the fall and deemed him fine. He turned back to Greg, trying not to grimace at the cum still in his pants, and gave the inspector a small smile.

'Hello Greg. How's Mycroft doing?'

'He's awake at least. Been wanting to see Sherlock all night,' Greg smiled lightly.

'Then let's go see him,' John smiled lightly. 'You up for it, Sherlock?' Sherlock nodded solemnly, not really sure if he could speak. He frowned and chewed at his lower lip.

'Hey, you alright?' John asked, crouching down to Sherlock's level. 'What's with the lip?' He grabbed Sherlock's chin until he released his lip from between his teeth.

'Fine,' he choked out, glaring at his feet pointedly.

'Don't blame yourself,' John whispered, knowing Sherlock wouldn't want Greg to hear. 'This isn't your fault. And if you start blaming yourself then I'll have to go all Captain on your arse to make you see straight. Okay?' Sherlock nodded but didn't reply. How could he not blame himself?

'It'll be alright, love,' John whispered softly. He brushed Sherlock's curls off his forehead and placed a gentle kiss there. 'Now let's go see how your brother is doing, yeah?'

'Yeah,' Sherlock smiled weakly. The smile was more for John's sake than his own. Deep down he just wanted to yell. John knew Sherlock wasn't fine, but he also knew that now was not the time to discuss it or try to fix it. He pet Sherlock's cheek and sighed, standing up to wheel him from the room to Mycroft's, Greg leading the way.

Mycroft looked paler than last night, probably because he was conscious and also conscious of the pain, both physical and mental. John offered him a small smile as he wheeled Sherlock to his bedside, stepping back to let the brothers have some space.

'Mycroft,' Sherlock acknowledged his brother.

'Sherlock,' came the raspy reply.

'You're an idiot,' Sherlock accused.

'I know.'

'I hate you,' the younger Holmes whispered.

'I wouldn't have it any other way,' Mycroft gasped weakly.

John couldn't help but smile at the two of them. He looked over to Greg who was smiling as well.

Sherlock wheeled himself closer. 'I know you lied to me about father.'

If it were possible Mycroft had paled further. 'I–' his brother went to say something. An apology maybe?

'Don't you dare.' Sherlock shook his head. 'Don't you bloody dare.' He leaned over his brother and wrapped his arms awkwardly around him.

'Sherlock... what?' Mycroft asked, flabbergasted.

'Shut up,' Sherlock grunted. 'Don't say anything.'

John blushed and motioned for Greg to follow him from the room. If the Holmes boys were going to have a brotherly moment best it be done in private.

'I think they'll be fine alone,' John smiled hopefully. 'Let's go get some food. You look like you haven't eaten in a while.'

Lestrade followed John closely. He barely registered where they were going until they had reached the hospital cafeteria. He was only thrown out of his haze when a sandwich was thrown on the table in front of him. He stared at the food like it was the most revolting thing he'd ever seen. His stomach lurched at the thought of even eating. It had been almost twelve hours since he had digested anything and he was hungry but every time he looked at food he felt guilty. Mycroft was in the hospital hooked up to wires, pale as a ghost, in pain, and was unable to eat much.

_I could have saved him from this pain. I knew something was wrong. I knew there was more than what he was letting on. God I love that man. I love him so much. Bloody Mycroft Holmes.  
_  
Then of course there was Sherlock. He was so different. It was as though he was a changed man. Oh how his heart went out to the two Holmes boys. The two brothers had been through so much.

'So. The Holmes boys, eh?' he spoke before he could barely register the fact that words were forming on his lips. John smirked and leaned back in his chair, nibbling on some crisps.

'God those Holmes boys,' he sighed, shaking his head. 'They'll be the death of us one day.'

Greg began chewing tenderly at his sandwich. Sighing heavily he questioned John, 'Why is it that bad things always seem to happen to them?'

'Because they're idiots,' John answered. 'They are major, stupid, fucking idiots who don't think and then we have to save their arses.'

'Who's more foolish? Them or us for falling for them?' Lestrade blushed and rubbed the back of his head.

'Us,' John laughed. 'Definitely us.' He sighed and ran a hand through his coarse hair. He needed to get it cut, but he rather liked it too.

'So, when did you and Mycroft happen?' he asked. 'Because I didn't know until Sherlock mentioned it.'

Greg smirked. 'I can't explain it. It just sort of happened. He was feeling a bit down because of his work and I just listened as he vented. Then he snogged the living daylights out of me and for a while I was terrified. I don't know why but there's something definitely daunting about kissing Mycroft.'

'I'd be daunted if I had to snog Mycroft too,' John smirked. 'In fact, it's daunting snogging Sherlock. The man analyses everything, and sometimes I think he's absorbing so much information while we snog that he's not focussing on the snog, you know?'

'He seemed pretty focused before,' Greg laughed lightly before frowning. 'He's changed. I mean don't get me wrong he seems to be changed for the better, but he seems a little lost. And that isn't surprising with what's going on. In fact I've never seen the two of them so... affectionate towards each other or so emotional. It's just strange. And what was that about yesterday? I mean it was as though it was the first time he'd seen me and did he really want me to shake his hand? I wasn't even aware Sherlock knew of such a gesture.'

John swallowed and avoided Greg's gaze.

'Yeah, about yesterday...' He paused and swallowed again. 'Sherlock had, to put it mildly, a bit of a memory lapse. It's not early onset Alzheimer's or dementia, thank god. Moriarty caused it somehow. That man that came in earlier, gave me that vial? Yeah, that was supposed to restore Sherlock's memories. There are still blanks but he remembers our relationship now and that he's a consulting detective for the Yard.'

He smirked at Greg's final comment. 'And while Sherlock may not know the basics of social interactions he does know what a handshake is. He shook my hand the first day we met at the flat. He just never shakes yours because he sees himself as above you. I was too until that first case, then I was almost his equal. And now we are equals; mind, body, and soul.'

'Jesus. If I'd have known,' Lestrade muttered under his breath. 'Even with memory lapse, why would he try to shake my hand? He's never done that before. On second thought, who knows what goes on in his mind. He's a Holmes. They're tall, handsome, and mysterious. How typical of me to fall in love with one. Not that he knows I love him.' He exhaled deeply. 'I think he just want things to be casual between us.'

John smirked and glanced back at Greg. 'Oh, I wouldn't be so sure about that.'

Greg's brow furrowed. 'What do you mean?' he asked the smirking man.

'Mycroft may have mentioned to me about how he would feel if he lost the man he loved,' John grinned. 'And I know he wasn't talking about Sherlock, Greg.'

Greg burned bright red. 'He said that, huh?' He shook his head. 'I sure wish he would tell me it himself.'

'I'm sure he will one day. Lord knows it took Sherlock long enough to admit his feelings for me. Granted, he had to get high in order to do it, but he did. Let's just hope Mycroft doesn't have to do something so drastic to admit his feelings.' John sighed and nibbled on another crisp, sipping his drink occasionally.

'I hope so too. Though just between me and you he's a bit of a light weight. When he's better I swear I'll get a couple of glasses of wine down him.' Lestrade laughed. 'He's ridiculously funny when he's tipsy. He starts singing about his life like he's in a musical.'

'Oh my god, please tell me he dances around waving his umbrella singing "Singing in the Rain"!' John laughed. 'Or anything from Mary Poppins.'

Greg sniggered. 'Actually he likes a bit of Take That. He's a really good singer.' He beamed from ear to ear. 'And that umbrella... sometimes I think he's dating it rather than me.'

'I'm the same way with Sherlock and his skull,' John nodded. 'Did you know he named it? He calls it Billy. Don't ask me why because even he won't tell me.' John shook his head and sighed, leaning back in his chair.

'How did we get lucky enough to worm our ways into the hearts of the Holmes boys?' he mused aloud.

'I don't know. I really don't. Sometimes I really don't think I deserve him. I mean, I'm not exactly what you could call up to his standards. We're from completely different walks of life. He's a rich git and I'm an overworked DI.' Greg visibly sank down in the chair.

'I know how you feel, mate,' John sighed. 'Sherlock is such a spoiled, arrogant, genius, prick of a man. And what am I? An army doctor invalid from Afghanistan brought up by homophobic parents. I have an alcoholic sister, nerve damage in my dominant arm, and a blog where I glorify Sherlock into some sort of angel.'

John sighed deeply and sank down in his own chair. 'I don't know what I did to be blessed with that man though. But I've never been happier in my whole life.'

'Posh gits, really know how to work a number on your heart, don't they?' Greg smiled. 'It's like they just walk on in there without a care in the world and no matter what you do you can't block them out.'

'The gits consume your every thought. You can't get them out of your head no matter how hard you try,' John smirked.

Greg rubbed a hand down his face. 'I've never felt so scared to lose someone.'

'Me too,' John swallowed. 'The first time Sherlock was in the hospital I was so scared he was going to die from his injuries. This last time though, it was a whole new level of fear. He couldn't remember me, what we were to each other, like I never even existed. And that is just the scariest thing for me is Sherlock not being able to remember. I would rather have him physically injured than mentally because a physical trauma will ease or go away. Mental trauma is with you for the rest of your life.'

'Especially with a mind like his.' Greg let out a low whistle. 'He's getting better though, yeah? You two seemed to have everything worked out.'

'There are still some blanks, but he's better now, yeah,' John nodded. He sipped at his drink again before abandoning it.

'Enough with the bad things,' John huffed, straightening up slightly. 'Let's get some good things going. Let's start with... Most irritating and most adorable thing your Holmes does. Go.'

Greg hummed in thought. 'The most irritating thing about him is the way he works himself up over work. I get that his work is important but I swear to god he'll have a heart attack if he keeps going like this,' he smiled warmly. 'The most adorable thing? He's ticklish and I don't mean just when I'm actually tickling him. The lightest of touches has him on the floor in laughter in seconds.'

'I never would have pegged Mycroft as the ticklish type,' John giggled. He paused in thought, popping a crisp into his mouth and chewed it slowly.

There were so many irritating things about Sherlock. The body parts in the fridge, the constant experimentation, playing the violin until five in the god damn morning. But John could tolerate all those. There was really only one thing Sherlock did that irritated John beyond all measure, and he grimaced just thinking about it.

The same went for adorable things Sherlock did. The way he wrinkled his nose in his sleep, his almost obsessive love of bees, how he treated Mrs Hudson as an equal and respected her and never deduced anything about her because he loved her. But there was one thing that Sherlock did that would always make John smile without fail.

'It's hard to pick just one for Sherlock, you know?' John smiled. 'He's always irritating but then he'll do something so adorable you won't remember why you were mad in the first place.' John sipped his drink before he continued.

'But the one thing that Sherlock does that just truly infuriates me is when he follows me. I'll go to the pub and have a few drinks, chat up a woman, and then go back to the flat. And Sherlock will know what I'd had to drink, how much, and be able to tell me that the woman was married or newly divorced or just looking for a fling. And then he goes on and on about her, rattling off deductions, saying things like "How could you not see that John?" And that's when I know that he followed me and spied on me. Then I get angry and start yelling and he starts yelling at me and all the petty issues we'd kept bottled inside all spill out and we're fighting just for the sake of fighting. And he always says something really irate and I sit on the sofa with a huff.'

John paused and smiled. 'And then the adorable thing comes into play. He'll see how angry and hurt I am and he'll realise what he did was a bit not good and he'll apologise. But he doesn't apologise in the conventional way. He'll sit by me on the sofa, slowly scootching closer before he lays his head in my lap, wriggling until I pet his hair. It soothes us, our anger dying in the calm. If I stop for even a moment he'll nudge me until I put my hand back and he relaxes again. He's basically a cat in the way he craves my touch. He was like that before we got together, but now that we are he does it all the time. Whether I'm irritated at him or something else entirely, he'll lay his head in my lap and I'll pet him until we both relax. It calms me down like nothing else and it just makes me really chuffed that he does that for me. He's fallen asleep in my lap a few times too, and then I get to see the adorable way his nose crinkles up when I pause in my petting him and how it instantly relaxes the second I start again.'

John took in a deep breath, reining in the emotions that had snuck up on him. 'Yeah, long answer. Sorry.' He rubbed his eyes and sighed. 'Why don't you ask something now? We can take turns discussing and asking about our Holmes boys.'

Greg beamed from ear to ear. 'Prepare yourself for many embarrassing questions fired your way.' He let out a low chuckle and with a deadly serious face fixed his eyes on John. 'Let's jump straight to the bedroom. What's he like? Any sexual kinks? Bondage etc...' John looked absolutely mortified which made Greg laugh almost hysterically.

'Good god Greg,' John laughed rather awkwardly. 'I haven't noticed any kinks yet, although he seems to like my dominating Captain mode. And Sherlock is a little bit of everything in bed. He's dominating, submissive, rough, gentle. We've tied my hands behind my back with one of his scarves, we've had rough and tumble sex, we've had role play sex, we've had sex in the shower, and most embarrassingly we've gotten each other off here in his hospital bed.' John blushed crimson and swallowed. 'Sherlock just doesn't fit into one category, you know? He's a bit of everything.'

John laughed lightly and asked, 'What about you and Mycroft? You guys gotten into some kinky acts in bed?'

'So that's what you were busy doing before I interrupted you.' Greg eyed John knowingly. 'As for me and Mycroft, it's all about Mycroft taking control. You know how he is. He has a power complex the size of his intellect. And as strange as it might seem we have a shared kink for cake, specifically when it's melting in his mouth.' Greg tilted his head back and licked his lips at the memory. 'God that man and his mouth,' he moaned, forgetting John was watching him. John blushed and shifted in his seat. Not that Greg was turning him on, far from it. But the way Greg was moaning in the middle of a crowded cafeteria was making John self conscious.

'Do you think maybe you could keep your voice down?' he asked softly. 'Sorry, it's just... We're sitting in a café talking about sex with our boyfriends. I don't want other people to hear about our private lives.'

John blushed again and huffed a laugh. 'But I know what you mean. Sherlock has a very talented tongue, and those lips. Good god. They're absolutely beautiful when they're being used on me. You know what I mean?'

'Now who need to keep his voice down?' Greg laughed heartily as John began to make a range of strange noises. Noises obviously brought on by the thought of Sherlock. Greg nodded. 'I can sympathize with you entirely though. It would seem our Holmes boys have tongues talented in all areas.'

'God yes they do,' John grinned. 'Okay, my turn.' He rubbed his hands together and smirked at Lestrade. 'First time you and Mycroft had sex. What was it like, what did you do, and where was it?'

'Mycroft would probably kill me if he knew I told you this but the first time we did ... anything together ... it was during a video call meeting he was supposed to be having. I was under his table ... and I suppose I don't need to fill you in on total details. He had to keep a straight face during that call and I don't think he succeeded as he was making all sorts of noises. It was bloody amazing. Knowing I could affect him like that and knowing full well that the people he was video calling could probably tell what was going on.'

John laughed and covered his face in his hand, muffling his laugh but not by much.

'I can't believe you two did that!' he exclaimed. 'Oh my god!' His laughter died down slightly. 'I'm not going to be able to look at him later without chuckling. Jesus.'

He sighed and breathed deeply, gathering his wits about him. 'Ok, your turn. Ask me anything.'

'I've heard mentions of a hallucinogenic drug a couple of times. What's that all about?' Greg raised an eyebrow.

'Oh. That's Sherlock making his own homemade drugs to escape reality,' John explained rather nonchalantly, much to his surprise. 'He imagines fairies everywhere and they try to teach him how to fly. Last time he was bare arsed on the coffee table and I could only coax him down with cocoa.'

Greg let out a low whistle. 'I bet that was what set you two up for good, huh?'

'Oh you have no idea,' John grinned. 'I stayed with him all night when he finally passed out and let me tell you, that drug had a very unexpected but very satisfying side effect. Think Viagra on steroids. Needless to say, we shagged like rabbits working that off.'

'God, remind me to do a drugs bust so I can get my hands on that.' Greg bit back a groan.

'Sherlock's perfected it by now. So you get the steroid Viagra without the hallucinations or orgasm denial. Now that was a bitch to work through.' John shuddered and shook the memory away for the moment.

'Ok, let's see,' he mused, stroking his chin like a cheesy movie villain. 'How about... First time you thought you loved Mycroft and the first time you knew you loved him.'

'You have to get me some of that!' Greg exclaimed, laughing.

Sobering up he sighed. 'I suppose I always had my doubts about how platonic me and Mycroft's relationship was. I perhaps stared at him for a moment longer than I should have, I found his cologne far too appetizing for my own good, and he was so sweet and kind. He's helped me through a lot of shit with my wife and the divorce. I remember lying awake one night and thinking, "Dear god Greg you've only gone and fallen for a man, a Holmes at that!" I didn't act on it, I didn't do much. I moped for a long time. Until one day we kissed and then we dated and shagged a numerous amount of times. Despite that I think I only realised how I truly felt when I saw him with a bullet in his chest, bleeding on the ground.'

'God. I'm sorry mate,' John said, placing a comforting hand on Greg's shoulder. 'He's going to be fine though. I saw his chart. It didn't cut through any major arteries or organs, just a lot of tissue damage. And believe me, that hurts like a mother fucking bitch and is going to leave a really nasty scar.'

John sighed and released Greg's shoulder, leaning back in his chair. 'But I know how you feel. I didn't know I was in love with Sherlock until the first stint with Moriarty a while back. In that moment I knew that there wasn't anything I wouldn't do for that man, and I was devoted to him completely. I was in love. Stupid, reckless, idiotic love. But I ignored it for the longest time because Sherlock shared no interest. Not until the drugs where he would always tell me he wuvved me, but I never did anything about it until the last time.'

Greg almost choked. 'Wuvved?' he questioned. 'Aww bless. Sherlock wuvs his army doctor.'

'Yes. And this army doctor wuvs his consulting detective right back,' John smiled. 'Now go ahead and ask me that burning question. I can see it in your eyes. Just ask it.'

'And what question are you assuming I want to know the answer to?' Greg asked, smirking.

'Now Greg, surely you don't need me to tell you that,' John smirked.

'Maybe you should, John. I could think of a thousand questions right now. Care to be specific?' He raised an inquiring eyebrow.

'The one that you've always been curious about since Sherlock first brought me to a crime scene,' John stated.

'Why you're mad enough to follow him?' Greg grinned. 'What was up with all the major eye sex? Oh how I could go on.'

'I was mad enough to follow him because he caught me from the start. He knew about Afghanistan from looking at me for all of five seconds and I was hooked. I needed to know more.' John sighed and smiled. 'And the eye sex was because I think I was always attracted to him, and I wanted him to know that but I was too afraid to tell him. Our first night together he told me he was married to his work but he was flattered by my interest, but I was stupid and played it off. So, I settled for eye sex.'

'Nothing wrong with a bit of eye sex now and then. I swear Mycroft has fucked me more times than I can imagine just by looking at me.' Greg shrugged. 'He has such a strange effect on me. I don't know how to explain it.'

'I know the feeling. Trust me,' John groaned. 'That first day in the Yard after we got together? Yeah, Sherlock was undressing me with his eyes and probably fucking me on every available surface.'

'Yeah. I may have turned a blind eye to that. Don't think that I don't know what you two were up to back in the Yard.' Greg tutted and wagged a finger in mock disapproval. John blushed and attempted to look ashamed but he honestly didn't regret doing that in the Yard.

'Ok, I get two questions since I answered two of yours. First, what is the most romantic thing Mycroft has ever done for you? Or to you if you want to go that direction. And second, how big is he?' He laughed at Greg's almost mortified expression. 'Don't look at me like that. One of us had to break down that wall eventually. And I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours.'

Once the mortification had died Greg smiled. 'There are so many romantic things. He takes me to restaurants and books the entire place to ourselves. We tend to have nights in where we have Chinese and watch chick flicks. And after he initially kissed me his exact words were "Gregory, I wish to court you."'

Greg took a deep breath. 'As for size he's, er, quite big.' He gestured with his hands as to how long he was and then how thick he was too. 'I mean I don't have anything apart from my own to compare it to but I still think that as big.'

John smirked and sat his elbow on the table, his arm poised in the air. He drew a line starting at where palm met wrist and continued down to just past the middle of his arm. He raised an eyebrow and grinned rather smugly.

'And that's when he isn't erect,' he whispered, wiggling his eyebrows. 'Add another two centimetres to that and you've got his full length. As far as thickness goes, he's not fat but he isn't skinny either. You know the saying "thick as a baby's arm"? It's about like that. It's long and strong and can reach the most magnificent of places.'

'Blimey,' Greg laughed. 'I can't believe we're having this conversation.'

'I don't either. God, I feel like we're two teenage girls gossiping about their boyfriends.' John shuddered and shook the image from his mind. 'You have the power right now to turn it around, go in another direction. So go ahead. Ask me anything.'

Greg shook his head. 'I wasn't complaining. I was simply stating that this is weird. Ok. Next question. Is he a screamer or more of a silent shag?'

'He's only a screamer when I tell him I want to hear him. Most of the time he just moans and groans and whimpers though. But if I tell him to be vocal then he's vocal.' John smirked and shifted in his seat. Now is not the time to get a hard on Watson, he scolded himself.

'For my question, have you two talked about any fantasies and have you acted any out?'

'God no but I have a countless number of them,' Greg replied, blushing and rubbing a hand at the back of his head awkwardly.

'Same here,' John smirked. 'There's just so much you want to try and not enough time to try them, you know?'

'I swear if me and Mycroft were locked in a room together for a week we'd finally be able to play them out,' Lestrade sighed happily.

'Sherlock and I were cooped up in the safe house for a week and we didn't do anything. Nothing. Sherlock tortured me with endless sexual frustration. He didn't touch me and I wasn't allowed to touch myself. By the time we finally did anything I had been accidentally drugged by that Viagra and had cum twice in half an hour.' John pouted and huffed, falling down into his seat.

'That and with his injuries we probably wouldn't have done much anyway,' he sighed. 'The first time I tried to clean him up he tore his stitches and I had to fix him before he lost too much blood. God, that was terrifying.'

Greg wrinkled up his nose at the image of a bleeding Sherlock . 'I can imagine. Sherlock always gives off the impression that nothing can touch him but he's as vulnerable as us all. Same goes for Mycroft.'

'They both have that illusion that they're unbreakable, or invincible, when they're really just as human as the rest of us,' John said softly. 'And I think now that this has all happened they both realise that they're human, that they can get hurt, and they can be broken. And it scares them.'

Greg hung his head low. 'Scares me at least. Scares me a lot.'

'It scares me too,' John whispered. 'And I was there when Sherlock was nearly beaten to death. I was tied to my chair and gagged, completely helpless. I wasn't even scared for me as I was the more helpless of the two of us, but I was more scared for Sherlock because he was the one being attacked.'

Greg groaned. 'I could have helped him. I could have sent a team to back him up. If only I hadn't accused him of those murders.'

'Greg, please don't blame yourself,' John said softly, reaching for one of his hands. 'There are too many people involved in this to put the blame truly on one person. But I find it easiest to blame Moriarty as he's the one who started it all. But then Sherlock is also to blame for playing Moriarty's game, me for following Sherlock, the list goes on and on but it all stems back to Moriarty.'

'What does he want? Why is he bent on destroying all of our lives?' Greg sighed.

'I have no idea,' John admitted, shaking his head. 'He's bored? He enjoys ruining people's lives? He's a psychopath?'

'Doesn't it frustrate you? Not knowing what move he's going to make next?' Greg exhaled and bit down on his lower lip hard.

'Of course it does. I'm constantly looking over my shoulder, paranoid beyond all doubt. I never feel safe anymore. And I won't until Moriarty's head is on a stake.' He glowered and released a harsh breath through his nose.

'We're powerless, John. Utterly powerless.' Greg's voice shook tremendously.

'The way I see it, we can either sit by and do nothing or we can stick by their sides and do our damnedest and fight alongside them.' John's eyes were vacant and far away, lost in the memory of the pool where he had done just that. They hadn't even had to speak, they knew exactly what needed to be done, and they would have gone out together.

'Together or not at all,' John muttered.

'Agreed. We stick together on this. I'm not going to let them fight alone.' Greg nodded in affirmation to what John had just said. John blinked and minutely shook his head, breaking out of his revelry.

'Right. We aren't going to stand idly by with this. They need us just as much as we need them, and we'll be there to support them no matter what.'

'How do you think they're holding up?' Greg asked.

John glanced at his watch, his eyes widening in surprise.

'Well, we've been gone for almost an hour. I think they've had enough time to sort out their brotherly feelings,' John smiled. 'What do you think? Should we go back up there?'

'God I hope they haven't killed each other. We should probably at least check on them,' Greg said, standing to his feet.

'I hope they haven't either,' John smirked, standing to his feet as well. 'If they're fine we should definitely continue this wonderful little chat of ours. Or make it a weekly thing.'

'Yeah. Why not?' Greg beamed. This chat with John was rather nice.

'Excellent,' John grinned as he walked to the lift. 'We need to do it during the week though. Maybe go to a pub where we won't be overheard so easily.'

'Yeah. Maybe every Wednesday? Middle of the week is as good a time as any,' Greg suggested.

Meanwhile, back with the Holmes boys, things had gone from hugging to Sherlock sat in the corner, cross armed, and glaring at his older brother. There was only so much of the infuriating idiot that he could take.

'Wednesday sounds great,' John grinned. The lift finally arrived and John stepped in, punching the number of their boys' floor and the doors closed, steadily rising to their destination.

'We can call it Moan About Your Holmes Wednesday,' John joked with a smirk. God, that sounded almost as bad as the Red Pants Monday the fandom had created. John just laughed and shook his head.

'And what kind of moaning are you implying?' Greg grinned wildly.

'Every kind, Greg. Every kind,' John smirked as the lift stopped and opened. He strode out into the hall and to Mycroft's room. He knocked before he opened the door and peeked inside.

'Hello boys,' he smiled as he saw Sherlock pouting in the corner. 'And how did your chat go?'

Sherlock turned his glare to John. 'Fine,' he bit out.

Mycroft looked up at Greg and sighed tiredly.

'Oh good lord,' John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 'What happened?'

'Nothing apart from the usual,' Sherlock said in a voice dripping with anger.

'Sherlock please–' Mycroft tried.

'Sherlock, for fuck's sake,' John sighed, covering his face with his palm. He took in a deep breath to calm himself down. 'Fuck it. Just fuck it. Sherlock, we're leaving.'

He grabbed Sherlock's chair roughly, spinning him around so he could grasp the handles.

'Mycroft, I apologise. Greg, thanks for a very entertaining lunch.' He wheeled Sherlock out the door, Greg closing the door silently behind them. John wheeled Sherlock back to his room and locked the door behind them. He left Sherlock in his chair, John retreating to his own in the corner, staring him down until Sherlock calmed down enough to be civil to talk to.

Sherlock huffed. 'I'm not going to apologise,' he said, voice steady and ice cold. 'I'm not the one in the wrong.'

'I didn't say you had to apologise,' John huffed. 'Just tell me what the hell happened.'

'I can't. Or rather I don't want to. I just want to sleep. So if you don't mind, can you please help me on to the bed?' Sherlock glanced away from John's prying eyes. John glared at Sherlock, not really mad but disappointed. The Holmes boys had been hugging it out when he last saw them. What the hell had happened that made them so angry with each other?

John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was calmer but still confused and disappointed. He stood up from his chair and approached Sherlock, caressing his face before sighing again. Without saying a word he grasped Sherlock's hands tightly and hoisted him up, slowly moving him to the bed and tucking him in.

'I wish you two would try to get along during this,' John whispered. 'I realise Mycroft has made some stupid and idiotic decisions but he really is trying to help. Now, going directly to Moriarty was a completely stupid move, but he did it for you. I may not have done exactly the same thing, I would have at least gotten a team together, but I would fight for you, Sherlock. Because, to me, you're worth fighting for.'

He ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair, noting how greasy it had become since his arrival in the hospital. 'Get some sleep, love. I'll be here when you wake up, and then maybe we can clean you up later.'

Sherlock sighed, closing his eyes. 'It has nothing to do with that. Well, it does, but not really.' He nuzzled against John.

John sighed and caressed Sherlock's face gently.

'You two are both idiots,' he smiled softly. 'But I love you.'

'This idiot loves you too.' Sherlock turned his face into John's hand and kissed it.

John smiled. 'You missed love.' He snickered at Sherlock's confused face. He leaned in and kissed him properly, Sherlock's mouth warm and soft. Sherlock moaned in a muffled surprise. The blood in his veins pounded and more specifically flooded downwards. John smiled against his lover's lips and kissed him deeper, his hands tangling in Sherlock's hair and his tongue flicking out in greeting.

'God John,' Sherlock moaned loudly and he turned, pressing himself against the man in question. John smirked and climbed over Sherlock, their lips still connected, John's tongue dancing with Sherlock's.

'Glad you aren't hooked up to a heart monitor this time,' John murmured, moving from Sherlock's lips to suck a bright red mark right on his pulse point.

'Oh fuck.' He shuddered and jerked his hips upwards. John moaned and bit down on the mark he had just made, rocking his hips against Sherlock's.

'Put the blinds down and turn the lights off,' Sherlock moaned. 'We want a little privacy.' His breath hitched in his throat as John continued to suck on his neck.

'Mmm yes,' John moaned, releasing Sherlock's neck with a loud pop. He ran his tongue along it for a moment before standing and shutting the blinds in both the windows and the small one in the door, making sure it was locked before turning off the lights. He blinked a few times before his eyes began to adjust to the sudden darkness, slowly moving back to Sherlock's bed and crawling back on top of him.

'What do you want, Sherlock?' he whispered against his lover's neck, rocking his hips against him. 'Hand, mouth, or full on penetration?'

'I'm not ready for the latter,' Sherlock whispered in shame. 'And the thought of having your mouth around my cock terrifies me something chronic.' He laughed. 'I'm sorry. I'm not particularly good at this it seems. I'll take your hand.' He sighed heavily. 'Sorry,' he apologized again.

John's smile faltered. Sherlock doesn't remember... No, it's fine. It's all fine, John reminded himself. He kissed Sherlock again, slowly, passionately. His hand snaked down Sherlock's torso, pausing at the waistband of his trousers.

Sherlock arched and groaned. 'Oh my word,' he gasped. John sucked on Sherlock's neck again as his hand delved into Sherlock's pants. His cum was still caked inside, cold and sticky. John used it as lube and slicked up Sherlock's cock, the coldness going away as he worked his hand up and down rather quickly, twisting at the head. Sherlock whimpered and thrust himself upwards.

'Faster,' he ground out. 'Harder.' John was only too happy to comply. He squeezed Sherlock's cock harder and stroked at an unforgiving pace, his hips rutting against Sherlock's.

'Harder than that. Come on,' Sherlock growled, panting hard as his breathing became laboured. He closed his eyes as he felt himself beginning to throb under John's touch. John smirked, accepting the challenge. He moved down between Sherlock's legs, positioning himself as if he were to fuck him. He leant over Sherlock, capturing his gaze as his hips pounded against Sherlock's arse mercilessly and his hand matched the pace of his hips. Sherlock tensed and trembled as he began to cum over John's chest, hand, and his own stomach in short, sharp spurts. He let out a strangled cry and melted into the bed sheets beneath him.

John hummed appreciatively at the sight, working him through it, slowing down his movements. When Sherlock finally collapsed into the sheets John smiled rather smugly and released Sherlock's cock. His stomach and chest were peppered with his cum, most of it having collected in John's hand. John fished around in the blankets and found the flannel from the other day, using it to clean themselves.

'Don't think this means I've forgiven you for being an idiot,' he whispered in the darkness. 'Because you're very much still an idiot. Now go to sleep.'

'I have nothing to be forgiven for,' Sherlock stated, tugging his trousers back up. 'I am not the suicidal bastard here.'

John groaned and thunked his head on Sherlock's chest.

'You honestly think he went there with a death wish?' John questioned. 'I don't think Mycroft would be that stupid.'

'Oh I don't _think_ that. I _know_ that. You see, whilst you and Greg were having lunch discussing our sex life, my brother and I were having a little chat too.' Sherlock let out a low growl. John glowered at Sherlock, rising up on his hands to look down at him.

'Oh, so you know what we discussed do you?' he grit out. 'Of course you would be able to tell what Greg and I talked about. You could probably tell what I had to eat just by looking at the crumbs on my shirt. But I don't care. Deduce what you will because you know what? It was good to talk to someone who knows what it's like to date a Holmes. And while your brother is a major fucking idiot you are too for acting like such a petulant child when he was trying to save your goddamn life. While what he did was completely stupid and I don't condone doing it ever again, he did it so your brain wouldn't eat itself alive as your memories deteriorated.'

John jumped from the bed in a huff and stood by the side, his hands clenched into tight fists. 'If he hadn't done something you might still be dying, or worse dead. So I'm grateful that he risked his life for you when I didn't. He saved your life, Sherlock, and for that I will owe him a great debt.' He stalked from the room, slamming the door behind him. He stopped outside Mycroft's door, contemplating. He made a quick and rather immature decision.

'Your brother is a massive twat!' he yelled at the door before stalking off again. He didn't know where he was going; he just needed to walk for a while.

'Don't fucking come back!' Sherlock screamed but it was too late. John was long gone. 'Fuck him, just fuck him.' He began to sob, and his entire body curled in on itself.

* * *

Sorry about the ending, but we gotta get the angst in somewhere. John is just frustrated that Sherlock can't remember and he needs to clear his head. Resolution next chapter.

TSA + IB


	15. Forgiveness

Here's the second chapter for today. I've also decided that once I get back to school I'll be updating this 3 times a week. We finished this a couple days ago, and there will be 65 chapters in total. Now, I don't want to be posting this for the next 50 weeks, so I'm hoping posting this 3 times a week will make a dent in the time it'll take to post this completely.

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Greg

Me: John

_Trigger warnings for this chapter: suicidal ideations_

_Warnings for this chapter: ill-will between our boys (but not for long), shower sex, dom/sub action, hurt and comfort_

* * *

Chapter 15 – Forgiveness

John wandered around the hospital for hours, checking out corridors and hallways and talking to the late shift nurses. Rory was back, and he said he and his girlfriend had worked things out. John offered him a small smile, wishing he and Sherlock had done the same. He scuffled along until his anger had ebbed and all that remained was irritation mixed with guilt. He had told Sherlock he wouldn't leave him but he had up and ran away from him when he probably really needed him. He was still confused, his memories still spotty, and John should have been there to help him.

'God fucking dammit,' he swore aloud, heading back to the lift to go to Sherlock's floor. He shoved his hands in his pockets and hung his head in shame on the ride down, the guilt starting to overtake the irritation. All he wanted to do was crawl into bed with Sherlock and run his fingers through his hair until he fell asleep. But would Sherlock let him?

He reached Sherlock's door and paused outside it, contemplating. He pursed his lips and clasped the doorknob, turning it slowly and opening the door a crack. Sherlock was curled in on himself, not really sleeping but almost there. His body was too tense to be asleep. John sighed and shut the door behind him, toeing off his shoes before they could make too much noise. Cautiously he crept over to the bed and paused, waiting for Sherlock to say something.

'I said don't fucking come back,' Sherlock whispered, quite aware of the presence in the room. He turned so he was looking at John. His blue eyes penetrated straight through the older man.

'All I wanted was to talk. To get some shit of my mind, but for you to react like that–' He laughed though his laughter was dead and without any humour. 'Do you normally react like that when I try to discuss things with you? I suppose I'll never know. Because do you know what John? You seemed pretty pissed with me over something which is way out of my control. I suppose you're the controlling type aren't you? The fuck and run type. I can read you like a book. If it's not done your way it's the wrong way, right? That's how it's always been and that's how it will probably continue to be.' The great consulting detective snarled, locking his jaw.

'Now get out and don't even bother coming back. I've been hurt by enough people in my life. I don't need a load of more crap to deal with. I definitely don't need someone who is going to flip out because of the issues between me and my brother. He's my family, not yours. I especially don't need this crap right now.'

He held up a hand. 'Don't say anything. Just leave, ok?' he panted. 'I swear if you say anything I'm going to do something I'll regret.'

Tears fell down John's face. He had really fucked up this time. Sherlock was still trying to remember him and he had run away and given him one of the worst impressions of himself. He wiped his tears away and shook his head.

'No, Sherlock, no. I'm not leaving you again. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I fucked up. I fucked up big time. I'm not normally like that, I swear, and I'm so sorry.' He sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

'So if you want to lay it on me go ahead. I deserve anything you give me. Your wrath, grief, whatever. Just lay it on me. I deserve it. And when you finish I'll still be here, and if you want to talk about your chat with your brother afterwards then I'll listen.' John swallowed and stood straight, holding his arms out to accept Sherlock's sharp words.

Sherlock shook his head. 'I have nothing to say to you. Please just leave.' All the fight had left his body. Any harsh words he wanted to say died on the tip of his tongue. 'If you're around right now I really think I'd hurt you. Walk away and let me think because god damn it I need to do a hell of a lot of that. I guess I won't be getting much sleep tonight.' He sighed heavily. 'I won't ask you again.' His voice was soft and feathery light and in that moment he became so childlike and innocent. He rested his head on the pillow and let out a stifled sob. 'Just go.'

John took in a shaky breath, fresh tears falling down his cheeks. He really didn't want to leave Sherlock alone with his thoughts. It was never a good idea and could sometimes be dangerous. But he didn't want to push Sherlock any more than he already had, didn't want to hurt him further, didn't want to cause him any additional pain. There was so much he wanted to say but he didn't want to say it, didn't want to fight. So he turned around, grabbed his shoes, and left. He didn't go far though. He sat a fair distance away from the door, his knees drawn up to his chest, sobbing silently. Sherlock was left there, shaking, crying, confused, hurt, angry, and with the feeling of betrayal and hate running through his veins.

Meanwhile, Greg had crept from Mycroft's room. His lover was asleep (finally). Whatever had gone on between the two Holmes boys had been something quite big. Greg hadn't seen him so tense or worked up before. That's when he heard sobbing. He glanced around for the person the strangled sounds were coming from. It didn't take long for him to find their source.

'John?' he questioned softly. 'You alright mate? What's happened? Is it Moriarty? Is there something else wrong with Sherlock?'

'I really fucked up this time,' John chocked out. 'I fucked up big time.'

'Come on John.' Greg shook his head, sitting next to the crying man. 'It can't be that bad.'

John sobbed harder, pressing his eye sockets onto his knees.

'I ran from him, Greg. I ran from him when he needed me the most and now he doesn't trust me or want to look at me or even have me in the same goddamn room.' John let out a chocked sob and turned his face away from Greg.

'And he still barely remembers our relationship. Barely remembers me. And I just... It kills me to know that I was just erased like that. That I could disappear from his memory like I never existed. Like I was a bit of information he deemed useless from his hard drive and deleted me like I was nothing.

'But that's exactly what I am now. I'm nothing. I'm the man who got him off and left as soon as he started talking about our conversation together and then tried to talk about his and Mycroft's. In his eyes I used him and left, that I always need to be in control or I'll leave, the fuck and run type.' John gasped a sob and clutched his hands in his hair as his entire body shook.

'Hey,' Greg hushed. 'None of that is true. You are loyal. It's not your fault that you got a little emotional and had to take a break.' He squeezed his friend's shoulder. 'Maybe you should have talked to him about what happened between him and Mycroft. Lord knows I tried to talk to my Holmes boy and he hasn't said a word since Sherlock left. It scares the honest crap out of me because it's clear they're both in pain and I just want to get to the bottom of things.' He sighed. 'Let him cool off. It'll be ok. You know how Sherlock is, right? Always throwing a temper tantrum.'

'God, but this time it seems so much worse. Sherlock's mind is still healing and this can't be good for it. And what if his memories are lost forever? What if I just gave him the worst impression of me I possibly could?' John clutched his legs tighter, pulling them against his chest so tightly he struggled to breathe.

'Look, you want to fix this, right?' Greg asked. 'Of course you do. Go back in there and tell him everything you love about him. I mean it John. Go back in there and just tell him about the connection between you two. The one that you denied for far too long, and the one that you'll never be able to lose. Go, now.'

'He won't listen to me,' John mumbled.

'Then you make him listen because god damn it one of us needs to get to the bottom of this and Mycroft's not going to open up any time soon. At least your one's talking to you. Even if it is with anger. Go to him, John. The worst that can happen is for him to yell at you. The best outcome will be for you to get in his good books once again.'

John nodded but made no attempt to move.

Greg sighed and rolled his eyes. 'Come on. You're coming with me.' He pulled John to his feet and grabbed his hand, dragging him back in the direction of Sherlock's room. 'It will do no good for you to both stew in your own thoughts so don't give me that look, John.'

John groaned and followed Greg, shuffling his feet. He stopped outside Sherlock's door, refusing to move. He was scared, and he knew it was completely irrational, but dammit he was scared.

Greg opened the door and grabbed John by the elbow. 'Talk to him,' he sighed, pushing the stubborn army doctor inside the room and shutting the door behind him.

John let out a small squeak as Greg shoved him inside. Sherlock was still curled up on the bed, in the same position he'd left him in. John was at a loss for words, not knowing what to say or where to start to get Sherlock to listen to him.

'You can come closer, John. I'm not in the biting mood,' Sherlock spoke into the darkness.

John swallowed and stepped closer, sort of shuffled really, until he was at Sherlock's bedside. He swallowed thickly, his throat dry. His mind was blank, words failing him when he needed them the most.

'I'm sorry,' Sherlock whispered. 'I overreacted. I said some pretty horrible things. However this doesn't make up for flipping out on me. I was trying to tell you something important about my brother. I didn't appreciate being left alone when I had a ton of crap running through my mind.'

'I know, and I'm so, so sorry,' John whispered. 'I behaved childishly, I overreacted, I ran away when you needed me most, and I'm so, so sorry.' John took a deep breath to steady himself, and finally began to say the things Greg told him to say.

'I don't normally act that way. But over the last few days I'd just been so stressed and overly emotional that I took it all out on you. And it scares me that you can't remember, that all we had was nearly wiped from your mind. Do you know what that feels like? To be erased like you never existed? Because to me it feels like I wasn't enough. My memories weren't strong enough to stay, I wasn't good enough for your brilliant mind to keep me. And I know it's irrational to think that way but that's how I feel.

'And we had so much, Sherlock. So much. And now it's all gone. Erased, deleted, forgotten. And there's this constant ache in my chest because I don't know how much you remember and I'm constantly second guessing myself in what I can and cannot do or say with you or around you. And the stress is killing me and my head hurts and my entire body aches.'

He clutched himself tight and inhaled deeply, his voice and body shaking uncontrollably.

'Have you considered how scared I am right now?' Sherlock questioned softly.

'Over the past few days half my mind palace has been literally demolished, and now I am having to rebuild it brick by brick. That is half of my mind that was taken from me, John. For anything to be in my mind it has to be important. I know those memories of you are, so therefore I know of what we once had. It felt right kissing you. It felt right when you ... you know. That thing you did to me was really rather good.' He smiled sadly. 'I can tell that by your whole body language that this is emotionally hurting you. I don't pretend to understand emotions because I can't. Which makes this whole situation ten times worse.' Sherlock paused for breath.

'My brother is suicidal. It is a fact that he had a death wish. I heard it from his own mouth. I suddenly feel like my brother isn't the man I always thought him to be and yet I don't know what to do with that feeling. I wanted to know your opinion of what to do because I myself am lost and confused and...' He took a deep breath and shook his head. 'I wanted to know your opinion because even without all my memories intact I know that you are incredibly important to me. I could feel the connection between us even as we spoke against each other in anger.

'And you ran. Not completely because of anger but because of pain and disappointment too.' He closed his eyes and swallowed. 'I hated the fact that I made you feel like that. Hurting you hurt me and I lashed out.'

'God Sherlock,' John breathed. 'I... I'm so sorry. I am so sorry for leaving you with all that on your shoulders.' He risked climbing on the bed and curled up against Sherlock, holding him close. He buried his head in Sherlock's back and inhaled his scent, calming down instantly.

'I'm sorry to hear about Mycroft as well. I had no idea he was suicidal. I'm sorry I left when you were so desperate to talk to me about it. We should get him help, we need to let him know that we're here for him, we support him, and Greg needs to be there too. We can't let him take his own life, not even if it would save one of our lives. He needs to know that he's important too, and that we love him.' John smiled against Sherlock's back at the small scoff he gave.

'Well, we do,' he smiled. He hugged Sherlock closer and buried his nose in his hair. 'And I don't think you don't understand emotions. I think you understand them fine, you just don't understand why people hold onto them so tightly. You don't understand the sentimentality behind emotions, not emotions themselves.' He sighed and ran a hand through Sherlock's hair soothingly.

'I love you,' he whispered. 'I love you and I'm so sorry. For everything.'

Sherlock shuffled against John so his body practically moulded into him. 'I love you too. I fucking love you.' He placed a tender kiss to John's neck. 'Now look at us. Two sentimental bastards,' he laughed.

'My brother being suicidal is partly my fault. Which is why I was pissed.' He exhaled. 'Would you please listen to what he said to me this time?' His voice cracked. 'Because all of this is killing me inside.'

'Of course I'll listen,' John whispered. He grasped one of Sherlock's hands and twined their fingers together, squeezing it to assure him he was there for him now. Sherlock squeezed John's hand and let out a shaky breath.

'He said that everything was beginning to pull at him. That this whole situation along with his work was pulling him paper thin. He also told me how he only had two important things left in his life.' He snorted. 'I said, "What are those then? Cake and your umbrella?" He told me that it was in fact me and Greg. Which was fine of course but then he went on to say how he was terrified of losing us. He kept on muttering how this was all his fault and how he was terrified of losing us, how the world would have been a much better place without him, how if we got hurt again it would be his fault, how his death could save us from more pain. He blames himself for our upbringing, for father's escape, and for some reason he blames himself for Moriarty's unhealthy interest in me. He told me he wants to leave this place because he can't deal with things anymore.'

John wiped away the tears that began falling again at Sherlock's story. He ran his free hand through his hair, ignoring how dirty it was for the moment.

'Why is everyone playing the blame game?' he muttered. 'I am so sorry your brother feels that way, but he really shouldn't. I wish I had a simple solution for this, that I could just give Mycroft two pills and tell him to call me in the morning. But depression and suicidal thoughts aren't that simple. He needs time away from work, he needs to spend more time with Greg, he should probably be on some form of antidepressant medication.' John shook his head, not wanting to fall too far into doctor mode.

'And how could he possibly be responsible for your father's escape? He didn't let him out, so it wasn't his fault. As for Moriarty I'm questioning that as well. He didn't tell Moriarty to start playing games with you because you were bored. He needs to stop blaming himself and he needs to get some professional help for his depression and suicidal thoughts.'

John hugged Sherlock closer and finally pulled his hand free of his hair. It came back shiny and greasy and his nose wrinkled up in disgust.

'I don't know about you but I would really like to wash your hair before you fall asleep,' he murmured. 'Your room has a private bathroom, so it's doable. What do you think, Sherlock?'

'I think it would be nice to have a shower,' Sherlock smiled weakly at John. 'Will you do me a favor though? Can you speak to him afterwards? Please.'

'Speak with Mycroft?' John asked, sliding off the bed and moving to help Sherlock down.

'Yes. Please can you? I'm scared for him and he won't hear me out,' he replied.

'Of course, love. Of course,' John assured him. He helped Sherlock out of bed and they made their way to the shower. John turned it on so the water would warm up and helped Sherlock out of his shirt. He paused at his trousers though.

'I almost hate to ask but I just want to be sure,' he said softly, looking up into Sherlock's eyes. 'Are you alright with me undressing you? And would you like me to wash your hair for you? I'm warning you now that that would require me to get in with you and I would be undressed as well. Seeing as you can't remember what I look like naked, I just thought I should give you the option to say no if you wanted.'

'Thank you,' he said softly.

'I am fine with this. I think we have to start somewhere and seeing you naked will probably be as good a place as any,' he smirked. 'Besides, I can see that you're a hunk under your clothes.'

John blushed and smirked as he pulled off his jumper and t-shirt, leaving his jeans on for the time being. He helped Sherlock get his off, peeling away his pants and tossing them in the bin. He did the same with his pants; no point in keeping them as they were beyond repair.

He flushed as Sherlock's eyes raked over his naked form, wanting to cover himself but not. His own gaze flicked over Sherlock's body, drinking in the flat planes of his stomach, his thick torso, and his muscled arms. In only two days he had almost forgotten how beautiful Sherlock looked naked. He smiled appreciatively at the sight.

'Remind me of what I was saying?' Sherlock grinned, reaching his arms around John's waist and pressing every inch of his ivory skin to John's tanned body.

'That... Um...' John swallowed as Sherlock pressed his entire body against him. 'That... I'm a hunk under my clothes?'

'I've never been so right,' Sherlock whispered down John's ear, watching in satisfaction as he shivered. John groaned and pressed himself closer to Sherlock's body.

'You're not so bad yourself,' he whispered, nipping Sherlock's collarbone. Sherlock's heart thudded in his chest and he whimpered as he began to feel hopelessly aroused.

'Shower. Get in,' he ordered.

John pulled Sherlock in with him, pulling him against him as soon as the hot water hit them both. He manoeuvred them around so Sherlock's head was under the spray, wetting his hair, John's hands cradling his face as the water cascaded down.

'You're really good at this,' Sherlock moaned out as John's fingers worked their magic.

'I've been told that a few times, yes,' John smiled, grabbing the cheap shampoo. It wasn't anything like what Sherlock used at the flat, but it would do until they got somewhere else. He lathered the shampoo in his hands before working it through Sherlock's hair, the pads of his fingers massaging his scalp. Sherlock chuckled and reached out a hand to twine in John's shaggy mop of blonde-grey hair. He hummed and began scraping his fingers through the overgrown hair. Much to his surprise John let out a loud groan and arched into Sherlock's touch, his hands stilling in Sherlock's hair.

'I didn't say stop,' he hissed playfully. Sherlock grinned wickedly. 'I'm sure I'll find a way of punishing you for being a bad little soldier.'

John's hands began massaging again, working on getting the sides of Sherlock's head before going to his crown.

'Yes sir,' John purred. God, when was the last time he had called anybody sir? 'I should be punished for my mistake.' He tilted Sherlock's head back and rinsed the shampoo from his hair, running his fingers through it as it became softer.

'Yes Watson,' Sherlock hummed. 'I shall punish you.' He laughed loudly. 'I'll get you back so hard you won't be able to walk.' He looked at John for a long time. 'If you catch my drift.'

John looked up at Sherlock wide eyed. His entire body began to tremble at just the thought of Sherlock doing that to him.

'Yes sir,' he nearly whispered. 'I understand. And that seems like a suitable punishment.'

'Good. Now finish the job.' He tilted his head and smiled sweetly. John stood on tiptoe and grasped Sherlock's hair in his hands, tilting his head back further before he clamped his lips on his neck and sucked hard.

'Tut tut Jonathan.' Sherlock clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. 'Did I give you permission to do that?'

'No,' John growled against his neck. 'But it looked so delicious, I wanted a taste.' He swirled his tongue over the pale red mark he'd left and hummed.

'I see.' Sherlock smiled devilishly. 'You don't think that you should have asked me if it was ok?' He grabbed John's wrists and flipped him over with expert ease. He placed both of John's hands on the shower wall and spread his legs out. 'Answer me,' he leaned down and spoke to John.

'No sir, I never thought to ask,' he moaned out, his entire body vibrating. 'I apologise, sir.' He scrabbled at the tile of the shower for purchase, holding himself up as his legs felt rather weak.

Sherlock grabbed the bottle of shampoo and squeezed it onto his hands. He yanked John's head up and began to roughly ruffle up his hair.

John tilted his head back further and purred at Sherlock's touch. It was a little rougher than he was used to, but because it was Sherlock it felt wonderful.

Sherlock smiled. 'You know, despite being apprehensive about you taking me because I've heard it hurts like fuck at the start, there's nothing stopping me from taking you.' He reached for his arousal and coated it in shampoo before lining himself against John's arse.

'Sherlock,' John breathed. 'Sherlock, wait.' He pressed a hand to Sherlock's abdomen, stilling his movements.

'You need to prepare me first,' he explained. 'You can't just shove your prick up my arse and expect it not to hurt. You have to stretch me first.' He grabbed Sherlock's shampoo coated hand and pressed his fingers to his entrance, easing a fingertip inside. He pressed back against it and it slid in to the first knuckle. John groaned at the feeling and moved his hips slightly.

'Think you can do that?' he asked in a shaky breath.

'I could try,' Sherlock shrugged. 'Of course, I knew you wouldn't be able to take me straight away.' He sighed in disappointment, moving his finger slowly in and out. 'You just wouldn't be able to take it, would you?' he teased, placing a hungry kiss to John's throat.

'No, I wouldn't have been able to take you,' he smirked. 'Your cock is just too damn big for my tight little arse.' John groaned and pushed back against Sherlock's finger. 'You're gonna have to add another finger now, Sherlock.' Sherlock did just that before pressing a third finger in too.

'I want you to scream, John,' he growled. John did. He screamed as Sherlock pressed his third finger inside him, stretching him, feeling a slight burning sensation but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. He screamed when Sherlock's fingers found his prostate and he pushed back harshly against them, wanting them on his bundle of nerves again.

'Are you ready? Do you think you can take me now?' Sherlock yanked John's head back up.

'Yes sir! Yes! God yes!' John screamed as Sherlock wrenched his head back rather harshly. He'd never been so rough before and John's body loved it. Or maybe it was because Sherlock was about to fuck him even though he didn't really remember who he was. John didn't care. He wanted this. God did he want it. He pushed back on Sherlock's fingers and whimpered.

'Please, sir, please. Take me.'

Sherlock removed his fingers and leaned back. 'Your wish is my command soldier.'

He shoved himself inside of John and began gently rocking into him at first. However, after only a few moments his primal animal instincts and all of his anger and frustration that had been building up inside of him came toppling down on him like a ton of bricks. Thus his thrusts became manic and so fast his lungs were burning out of exhaustion. John trembled underneath his power and was beginning to slip down the shower tiles. That didn't stop him. He continued to pound himself into John furiously.

And then they fell with a thud to the shower floor. John cried out as he was the one to cushion the fall for Sherlock. The thing that scared Sherlock the most was the fact that he couldn't stop. Even as he started cumming he still continued to thrust in and out. John lay there, deadly still, his own cum spurting out.

'Oh god,' Sherlock squeaked. 'What have I done?'

He pulled himself out of John and looked down at the deadly weak looking man. John lay still against the cool tile, collecting his breath and his strength. He had deserved that, for leaving Sherlock and not listening. He knew he deserved it, so he allowed it to happen.

He slowly turned around so his back was against the wall, propping himself up as his arse was in a lot of pain and his legs felt boneless. He hissed as his arse stretched when he sat, pain shooting up and through his body. He sat in the spray of water, the warmth exactly what he needed at the moment. It rinsed the shampoo from his hair as well and John closed his eyes so they wouldn't get irritated.

He gulped down deep breaths until his heart rate slowed and he could breathe somewhat normally. He wiped his face with his hands and turned to look at Sherlock, who was watching him with so much guilt running across his features. John didn't know what to say, he couldn't really speak, but he didn't want Sherlock to think he was angry. He was sore and tired and sated, he had deserved what he'd gotten. Sherlock had said he would lash out and hurt him, but John had expected verbal abuse instead of physical pain.

John offered Sherlock a small smile before turning his face back to the spray of water, warming him up, cooling him down, and relaxing him.

Sherlock sighed heavily. 'I am so sorry. I tried to stop myself.' He reached out and placed a hand on the small of John's back. John shuddered at the touch but leaned into it.

'It... It's fine, Sherlock,' he said softly. 'You did say you would hurt me. All that pent up anger trapped inside would have needed to come out somehow. And I'd rather you fuck me into oblivion instead of shooting our walls again.'

'I still could have stopped myself,' Sherlock said, his voice filled with self hatred. 'I never wanted to hurt you.'

John reached out and cupped Sherlock's cheek in him palm, running his thumb soothingly across his skin.

'I don't feel all that bad actually,' John lied. His entire body was on fire but his soldier training had him ignoring the pain. In his head he was fine, but his body begged to differ. 'And I know you didn't mean to hurt me, I know it was an accident, that you couldn't control yourself. But the way I see it is it was best to get it out now before that anger stewed in there for far too long and you lashed out and hit me. Trust me, this was a far better punishment.'

Sherlock frowned. 'I would never hit you.' He wrapped his arms around John and kissed his bad shoulder. John moulded himself to Sherlock, humming as Sherlock's lips met his scar. He reached up and stroked Sherlock's wet hair, the strands soft in his fingers.

'Can you stand or do I need to go fetch my wheelchair?' he asked softly.

John tested his legs. They could move but they probably wouldn't support him very far.

'I think the wheelchair,' John murmured. 'And turn the water off. It's gone cold.' He shivered and wrapped his arms around his torso. Sherlock gulped and nodded, getting up to his feet and switching off the water. He collected the wheelchair, a towel, and a pair of pyjamas.

'Come on,' Sherlock whispered, hoisting him up to his feet and popping him down in the wheelchair. He didn't miss the look of pure pain now on John's face but he decided to remain quiet. He quickly towel dried him and pushed the set of pj bottoms on him before proceeding to pull a top over him.

'It would seem our roles have switched,' he murmured, pressing a kiss to John's head.

'So it would seem,' John grit out. His arse was in a tremendous amount of pain and it hurt to sit down. He just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep it off. 'Can we go to bed now?'

'Yes, of course dear,' Sherlock said softly. He pulled on his own clothes before wheeling him over to the bed and pulling him onto it. He crawled underneath the covers too, tugging John tightly to him. John rested his head on Sherlock's chest, listening to his erratic heartbeat. He reached out and ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair again, the feel of the soft strands and the motion soothing for him. He buried his nose in Sherlock's shirt and clutched him close.

'I love you,' he whispered, his eyes fluttering shut.

'I love you too,' he whispered to the now sleeping man. John held tight onto Sherlock in his sleep. He didn't dream and while he was exhausted he was only half asleep as he didn't want Sherlock to pull away from him. He wanted Sherlock to know that even if he hurt him, accident or not, he would still want him around. So he clung to him in his sleep, listening to his heartbeat, his head rising and falling with Sherlock's chest. The movement lulled him back to sleep and his grip loosened slightly but he still held on.

* * *

So we'll get back to a 'normal' schedule next week. Sorry for the delay, but I hope these two chapters made up for it. See you next week, and happy Red Pants Monday!

TSA + IB


	16. The Darkness

Hi all. Sorry this is so late in the day. It's been pretty hectic at home the last few weeks, but I'm still gonna try to get out at some point and update this.

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Mycroft, Greg

Me: John, random nursing staff

_Trigger Warnings: Suicidal thoughts and actions_

_Warnings: a very emotional talk with Mycroft, blow jobs in hospital, men going at it, blow jobs in a lift_

* * *

Chapter 16 – The Darkness

Sherlock was left to his thoughts that night. His mind was spinning out of control. His brother's suicidal thoughts, his father's unexpected return looming over his head, his ability to hurt John (a man he knew deep down that he loved and cared for), his helplessness in this whole situation. He didn't sleep a wink and in fact was only just nodding off because of his exhaustion taking over when John awoke. He groaned as the older man shifted in the bed but he didn't open his eyes. He was completely riddled with fatigue now.

John shifted and nuzzled Sherlock's chest, slowly waking from his dreamless sleep. He groaned and stretched, his legs and arse still sore but a lot better than they were last night. He lifted his head and blinked as sunlight filtered in through the closed blinds. He glanced up at Sherlock and saw the heavy bags under his eyes. His brow knitted in concern.

'Did you sleep at all Sherlock?' he asked softly, moving off Sherlock's chest. Sherlock grunted out a small 'no' before burying his face in his pillow.

'Trying to now.' John nodded and slid off the bed, managing to walk to the wheelchair and sit down without much difficulty.

'I'm going to visit Mycroft,' he said softly, testing out pushing himself about. It was quite easy much to his surprise. 'Get some sleep, love.'

Sherlock hummed. 'You might have to bribe him to talk. Try buying him some cake. Chocolate is his favourite.'

'Alright,' John smiled. 'Sleep now. I'll be back.' He wheeled himself from the room, shutting the door behind him before heading to the lift. It wouldn't hurt to get Mycroft a piece of cake. Besides, he probably really needed it.

Getting the cake was a different story altogether. Because he was wearing hospital issue pyjamas and going around in a wheelchair, staff thought he was a patient escaped from his room. After he assured everyone he was in fact not a patient, he had just showered and hadn't put on fresh clothes, he made it to the cafeteria and bought the chocolate cake, grabbing three forks in case Greg was still there.

He made it back up to the Holmes floor without much trouble, steadying the cake on his lap as he wheeled down to Mycroft's room. He heard snoring coming from Sherlock's as he passed.

_He must have been tired. He only snores when he's exhausted.  
_  
John made it to Mycroft's and knocked softly, waiting for Greg to open the door or for Mycroft to say something that granted him entry.

Mycroft heard the knocking. 'Come in,' he spoke in a low, wavering voice. Greg had just left to pick up some fresh clothes for himself so he knew it was most likely John or Sherlock. John opened the door and wheeled himself inside, shutting it behind him.

'Good morning,' he smiled. Mycroft's eyes widened briefly at the sight of the army doctor in a wheelchair.

'Are you hurt as well? What happened?' He scanned his eyes over John before coming to a realisation. He smirked. 'Oh, I see. My little brother happened.'

'Yeah, Sherlock happened,' John blushed. 'He sent me over to talk to you.'

Mycroft sighed and rolled his eyes. 'I should have known this would happen sooner or later.' John frowned, wheeled himself closer to Mycroft's bedside.

'I realise you don't want to talk about this, but you should. And I brought an incentive.' He held up the cake. 'If we have a civil conversation about this I will let you have this. If we don't, Greg and I get to share it or I eat it on my own. Possibly even in front of you. Understood?'

Mycroft licked his lips hungrily and sighed in defeat. 'Okay. I'll talk.'

'Good,' John sighed, sitting the cake on the bedside table just out of Mycroft's reach. He manoeuvred himself to face the bed and gazed upon Mycroft. He was staring at the ceiling, refusing to look at John. So John just let the silence stretch until he saw Mycroft's body relax minutely. It was good enough for him.

'I'm not really sure where to start,' he admitted, scratching the back of his head. 'So, I suppose I'll just be blunt and ask you when it started. The blaming yourself for your father's abuse, the depression, the suicidal thoughts.' John paused and glanced at Mycroft's wrist, grabbed it gingerly and sighed. 'And suicidal actions too.'

'I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about. Those are merely scratches. Gregory has a cat...' Mycroft ripped his wrist away from John's prying eyes and continued to glare at the ceiling.

'Don't lie to me Mycroft,' John scowled. 'I'm a doctor, I know what self harm scars look like.'

Mycroft swallowed. 'Since I was old enough to understand what was going on around me,' he answered John's former questions.

John nodded and swallowed. 'Why do you blame yourself for your father's escape?'

'Because it's my job to protect Sherlock and I should have simply killed father whilst I had the chance. Therefore the mere fact that he is still alive is my fault.' Mycroft's voice was cold and detached.

'And who told you it was your job and yours alone to watch after Sherlock?' John questioned.

'No one. It just is because I am his older brother. It's just always been the way,' he replied sadly.

'Uh huh,' John muttered in thought. 'Mycroft, I know you don't want to hear this but I'm saying it anyway. Sherlock is a grown man now and doesn't necessarily need your constant protection. Plus, he's got me now. And I can look out for him when you can't.'

'I can't just stop with a snap of my fingers.' He ground his teeth together. 'I'm losing control of my life. The only thing that makes sense in my life right now is my duty that I owe to my brother; a duty to protect him.'

'I didn't say you had to stop completely,' John assured him. 'Just practise easing off slightly. I'm here for him too, so you don't have to do this yourself. And I know you see it as your duty to protect your little brother, but don't forget about your duty to Queen and Country as part of the British government.'

Mycroft's entire body shook with the breath he took. 'My work,' he scoffed. 'Sod my work. Sod everything.'

'You honestly think the world would be better off without you in it?' John asked, his entire demeanour changing. He was on the defensive now.

'I am certain of that, yes.' Mycroft closed his eyes and clenched his fists.

'Mycroft, if you were...,' John gulped. 'Dead... Then who would look after Sherlock? You said yourself that it's your duty to look out for him. And I know this contradicts everything I just said, but he needs you now more than ever. He's worried about you, Mycroft. His entire image of you has been shattered and he's scared. He needs his big brother right now, he needs you to be there for him, and he needs you to stay alive. No more suicidal missions. Because if you kill yourself I can guaran-damn-tee you that Sherlock would blame himself and never forgive himself for not stopping you.'

Mycroft shook his head.

'It's hard to want to stay alive. I know that I'm a selfish bastard but I've stopped caring. Besides, you were right. My brother has you now. And I'm sure Gregory shall move on soon enough.'

'You would really leave the man you love, and who loves you back by the way, alone in the world?' John demanded. 'You would do that to him? Because I can assure you he wouldn't move on from that "soon enough."'

'I think that he deserves better than me. He deserves a pretty young woman, not someone that is so ... fucked up.' A single tear escaped the solid walls of his closed eyes.

'You think that do you?' John scowled. 'I can assure you he doesn't. Greg doesn't want anyone other than you. He told me that you book an entire restaurant for the two of you when you go out. You eat Chinese and watch chick flicks. No one else would do what you do for him. I know you care about him deeply and he cares about you just as much. You can't leave him just as he's moved on from his divorce and has grown to trust again. Not only would that be selfish of you but it would devastate him. He would constantly wonder if there was something he could have done to stop you, if he wasn't good enough for you. You can't do that to him. Or Sherlock for that matter because you know he would blame himself.'

'I don't know what to do,' Mycroft sobbed, running a hand down his face. 'I'm confused and I just–' He shook his head. 'I want these feelings to stop. I want to be selfish and leave.'

'You know what you should do?' John asked softly. 'You get help, you form a strong support group, and you get better. There's medication you can take if you need it, and if you want to talk I'm here. I know you won't want to talk to Sherlock, and in a pinch you can talk to Greg. He should know about this so he can help you too. Don't leave him in the dark. But if you ever need to talk about anything, anything at all, you can talk to me, okay?'

'I'm trying to protect him. If Gregory knew I was feeling like this he would be hurt.' Tears fell thick and steady now.

'No he wouldn't, Mycroft,' John said softly. 'He would be worried and would want to get you help. I was the same way with my sister and her alcoholism. I know that doesn't compare to how you feel, but I know what you're going through. I went through it too, I got help from the most unexpected person, and look at me now. I'm alive and well and I'm getting better.' John paused and took a deep breath, telling himself he needed to tell his story.

'Before I met Sherlock I was walking through a park, heading back to my dingy flat to kill myself. You know about my unregistered firearm. I was planning on using that. But my friend Mike stopped me and he introduced me to Sherlock, and he saved my life. He knows, but not to that extent. And I'm asking you not to give up hope just yet. Because I survived, I got better, and I know you can too.'

Mycroft's breath hitched. 'I didn't know that you were suicidal,' he whispered softly.

'I suppose I should tell him. I'd hate for Sherlock to get there first. How does one go about bringing this sort of thing up in conversation?' he questioned, wiping his tears away.

'I don't know,' John admitted. 'I haven't even told Sherlock about my suicidal tendencies, not that he hasn't already deduced it. If he does know he doesn't bring it up out of respect.' John sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

'As far as bringing it up with Greg goes, you can be blunt and tell him outright or you can sit him down and tell him... something. Just, don't be brash about it. Approach the topic gently, let him know you want help, and I'm sure he'll get you nothing but the best.' John reached out and grasped Mycroft's hand.

'And my offer to talk still stands. I've gone through what you're going through now. So if you ever want to talk, to have someone listen to you who knows what you're going through, don't hesitate to call or text. I'll listen, I'll give you advice, I'll help you in any way I can. Just don't give up, alright?'

Mycroft nodded, chewing on his lower lip. 'Thanks, John. It's really quite appreciated that you want to help me.'

He sighed. 'Where do I go from here? I don't truly want to kill myself but life has a tendency of pulling at me. Ending it seems like such a logical solution.' He paused and turned towards the door. He and John were no longer alone. There stood an extremely pale and pain stricken Gregory Lestrade.

'Ending what, My?' the man in question quizzed him.

Mycroft was at a loss for words. His lips moved but no coherent words came out. More tears pricked in his eyes as he watched Gregory run from the room, slamming the door loudly.

'Gre-gory,' he cried softly. He slid underneath his covers, pulling his head under the sheets too. 'Come back,' he mumbled under his breath over and over until he could speak no more.

John was saying something but by this point Mycroft had shut himself off from his senses.

'Son of a bitch,' John swore. Mycroft had retreated in on himself, so John knew he wouldn't hear him but he talked all the same.

'Mycroft, I swear to you that I'm going to fix this. I am not going to let the man you love leave you. I am going to fix this, I promise you.'

He wheeled himself from the room and shut the door, searching for Greg along the halls.

'Greg?' he called. 'Greg, let me explain what we were talking about. Please. Greg? Come on mate, don't do this. Just let me explain.'

Greg heard John and paused, reversing and coming around the corner to face him.

'Explain,' he demanded. His eyes flickered over John. 'What did Mycroft mean by "ending it"? Is he bored of me already?' He exhaled. 'Is that why he's been acting so weird lately?'

He blinked as though seeing John for the first time. 'And what the hell is up with the wheelchair? What's gone on?'

John sighed. 'The wheelchair is because Sherlock rendered my legs practically useless last night. We had some rather intense make-up sex.' He wheeled closer to Greg.

'Mycroft didn't mean ending your relationship, Greg. He doesn't want to leave you. He just...' John paused and bit his lip. How did he want to say this? He took in a deep breath.

'He's been having suicidal thoughts, Greg,' he finally said. 'He wanted to die when he bargained for the antidote to whatever Sherlock had. But he doesn't want to die now, he wants help, and he wants you. I'm sorry for being so brash but there really is no other way of bringing this up in a conversation.'

Greg felt his heart freeze over and his entire body tense. 'He's suicidal? He – since when?' He sighed heavily. 'How could I have missed this? I'm supposed to be there for him. I know the signs – and yet I didn't pick up on anything.'

'He didn't give me an exact answer, just when he was old enough to realise what was going on with his family,' John sighed. 'And I know I don't spend as much time with him as you, but I'm surprised I didn't pick up on it as well. I'm a doctor for Christ's sake.' He wheeled closer to Greg and nudged his hand.

'You need to go to him,' he said. 'Don't leave him alone right now. It's not safe, and his mind can be just as dangerous as Sherlock's. Bribe him with the cake I brought if you have to. But you need to go to him. Now.'

Greg nodded. 'Thanks for letting me know - I mean - Jesus.' He shook his head. 'You go be with Sherlock. I'll take care of Mycroft.'

'No problem,' John sighed. 'Just go easy on him. He's scared and doesn't understand why he feels the way he feels.'

'Of course,' Greg nodded in understanding. 'I love him. I'm not going to lose him, John.' And with that he began striding back to Mycroft's room with a sense of urgency. John watched him leave, his entire body relaxing in relief. He wheeled himself back to Sherlock's room. He was still sleeping thankfully, his snoring softer. John clambered back in, his mind exhausted from talking with Mycroft. He pulled the covers over him and draped an arm across Sherlock, snuggling closer to him as he drifted off to sleep.

Sherlock awoke with a start. He could hear John mumbling under his breath from nearby. Opening his eyes he realised that John was talking (almost whimpering) in his sleep. He seemed a little distressed and so Sherlock did what came naturally to him. He sang whilst carding his hand through John's blond mop.

'Carry on my wayward son. There'll be peace when you are done. Lay your weary head to rest. Don't you cry no more.'

John shifted constantly in his sleep, worried about what Mycroft had told him, worried about what he and Greg had talked about. Suddenly there was a rich, deep baritone singing in his ear and fingers carding through his hair, soothing him. He hummed and pressed his head closer to the touch, listening to the voice.

'Once I rose above the noise and confusion. Just to get a glimpse beyond this illusion. I was soaring ever higher. But I flew too high. Though my eyes could see I still was a blind man. Though my mind could think I still was a madman. I hear the voices when I'm dreaming. I can hear them say. Carry on my wayward son. There'll be peace when you are done. Lay your weary head to rest. Don't you cry no more.'

_'Wayward Son.' He's singing 'Wayward Son' to me, _John sighed in his sleep._ God I love this man.  
_  
Sherlock smiled softly as John calmed. It was amazing that he had such an effect on John. He had never affected someone like that before. It felt good, fantastic even.

'Oh John, you really are a rather impossible thing in my life.'

John smiled and pressed himself closer to Sherlock. 'You're a pretty impossible thing in my life too,' he mumbled, nuzzling Sherlock's hand.

'Are you awake?' Sherlock questioned softly. 'Or are you still rambling nonsense?'

'A little of both, I think,' John mumbled. 'Still half asleep. Wouldn't mind if you woke me up though,' he smirked.

'Have it your way,' Sherlock grinned, pressing a feather light kiss to John's neck. He slid down the blonde's sleeping form, stopping at his crotch. He snickered as he saw no movement from John apart from a brief flicker behind his eyelids. He then proceeded to pull John's pj bottoms down, and with a bold rush of courage he clamped his mouth around John's beautiful member. Still not a sign of awakening – just a brief and dreamy moan. Perhaps John did indeed think he was dreaming. He began swirling his tongue in ways he hadn't realised were possible.

Okay, now John was awake, wide awake.

That only made Sherlock laugh harder.

John groaned at the sensations flowing through his veins. Pleasure, so much pleasure. God, it all felt fucking fantastic. His entire body lurched when he felt the wet swirl of a tongue along his shaft. So he wasn't dreaming. Sherlock really was waking him up with a blow job.

'Oh fuck,' he moaned, shifting his hips slightly. He reached out and grasped a handful of Sherlock's curls, egging him on.

Sherlock chuckled and continued his work. Using his tongue's magical powers to turn John into a pliant mess of shaking and pleasurable moans.

John moaned and threw his head back, rutting his hips as Sherlock's tongue worked in ways he'd never felt before. Jesus Christ he was good at that. His hand clamped tighter in Sherlock's hair, pushing him closer to his cock.

'Sherlock,' he moaned obscenely. 'Sherlock, put... Oh fuck... Put the head of my cock in your mouth. Suck on it like you would a lolly. Please.'

Sherlock pulled back. 'Well, since you asked so nicely, ok.' He lunged himself onto John, swallowing him almost whole before he started sucking on him. John let out a harsh cry as the wet heat of Sherlock's mouth surrounded him. His legs shook from the pleasure and he tried his hardest not to thrust into Sherlock's mouth.

'God, fuck, yes!' John cried, gripping Sherlock's hair so tightly he was surprised he hadn't ripped it. 'Jesus, you–' He groaned. '–you have a talented mouth.'

Sherlock hummed and gave a muffled reply of 'I know.' He gazed into John's eyes mischievously and quickened his movements. John cried out again, his free hand scrabbling on the sheets, grabbing a fist full.

'God Sherlock,' he moaned, his hips moving slightly. 'God, I'm close. So fucking close.'

Sherlock sucked harder, bracing himself for the inevitable. John couldn't stop his hips from thrusting, forcing his cock deeper into Sherlock's mouth. The muffled grunt of surprise and involuntary swallow that followed were what sent John over the edge, Sherlock's name on his lips as he came with a loud cry. Sherlock wriggled backwards, releasing John from his mouth, coughing and spluttering and rubbing at his raw throat. John sucked down deep breaths as he came down from his high. He looked down at Sherlock and saw the discomfort written all over his face, his hand clutching his throat.

'Sherlock? You ok?' John asked.

Sherlock nodded. 'Never been better,' he choked out. 'You?' he questioned, still rubbing frantically at his burning throat. John leant forward, removing Sherlock's hand from his throat to feel it himself.

'I feel pretty fantastic,' he answered, examining Sherlock's throat. 'Did I hurt your throat?'

'A little,' Sherlock shrugged, his usually clear baritone voice breaking out in patches of raggedness. 'But I guess I did deserve it. I wrecked your arse pretty badly yesterday.'

'I'm sorry,' John frowned. 'I didn't mean to.'

'I know.' Sherlock pulled John's trousers back up and climbed onto him, leaning his head just underneath his lover's chin.

John carded his fingers through Sherlock's hair, sighing in content. It was all so... domestic, especially for Sherlock. He nuzzled his nose in Sherlock's hair before he remembered why he had been so distressed in the first place.

'I talked to Mycroft like you asked,' he said softly, his fingers sliding through Sherlock's hair with ease. 'And I brought him cake to bribe him into cooperating.'

Sherlock glanced up at John. 'How did it go? Was he willing to cooperate? I'm sure his stomach won over his heart and mind.'

'He was rather reluctant at first, but he did cooperate,' John answered. 'I gave him some advice, told him if he needed someone to talk to that he could call me, and we told Greg about it so he could start helping him too.'

'Good,' Sherlock smiled. 'That's good right?' He breathed a sigh of relief. 'Thanks for talking to him. I know it couldn't have been easy.'

'Yes, it's very good,' John smiled, hugging Sherlock closer. 'And it wasn't terribly easy no. He wouldn't listen to me until I told him...' He paused. 'Until I told him I understood what he was going through.'

'You do?' Sherlock questioned in a worried panic.

'Yeah, I do,' John sighed. 'You probably don't remember, but the first time we showered together I told you that I was in a dark place before I met you, that you saved my life. I just never told you how far into the darkness I was.

'I had been feeling depressed for months. I was an army doctor invalid home from war, and I felt like I had failed my life's purpose. So... I made plans. Plans to end my life. I was going to give myself one last good day enjoying the London atmosphere. I rode a double decker from start to finish, I visited the Crown Jewels, did all those lame tourist attractions, and finally stopped in a park to enjoy the peaceful serenity. By the time I was ready Mike stopped me, and my life was forever changed. Because he brought me to you and you saved my life. And for that I am eternally grateful.'

He took in a shaky breath and wiped away the stray tears that had fallen. He clutched Sherlock tightly, needing something solid to hold on to. He didn't like visiting that part of himself because every time he did those dormant feelings rose to the surface and he would have to act in some way to get them to go away. Normally he would drink, but seeing as he was in a hospital that wouldn't be happening. So he held on to the man who had saved him, hoping it would be enough to keep him sane. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, holding him like he was his safety net, and he cried.

He cried because he couldn't remember. He cried because if he hadn't met John then lord knows where he would be in his life now. He cried because John was crying. However perhaps a major factor to his was that he was frightened John would go back to that dark place and do something drastic.

He raised his head and cupped John's cheek. 'Don't you dare fucking ever leave me, ok. Promise me.' His entire face crumbled. 'Promise me that no matter what you'll stay strong.'

Fresh tears fell down John's face at how distressed and emotional Sherlock looked. He held his lover's face in his hands, wiping away the tears with his thumbs.

'I promise, Sherlock,' he whispered through choked sobs. 'I promise that I will never leave you. I promise that I will stay strong, for both of us. And I promise that I will always be here for you, to help you remember, to care and look after you, and to remind you that you are loved.' He placed a small kiss to Sherlock's forehead and held him tight, crying into his hair.

'Good, because I'd follow you into the darkness if you ever entered it again. That connection we have together? I can feel your pain just as much as your happiness - in fact I can probably feel your pain more so. I tend to pick up on negative emotions better because they're the ones I understand better.' Sherlock's voice trembled at a dangerously high level. John sobbed into Sherlock's shoulder now, clinging to him like he was his lifeline. And, in a way, he supposed he was.

'I'm not going anywhere,' he choked out. 'I swear, I won't go back to that place. And I definitely don't want you to follow me there if I do go back. You saved me from myself, Sherlock, and I'm not going to leave you so long as you don't leave me. I love you. And sometimes I think I love you a little too much. But I don't care. I love you with all my heart and soul and that's all that matters.'

Sherlock smiled and nodded. 'I love you with all my heart and soul too.'

He slowly drew John's mouth to his, kissing his lips so gently that his mind barely registered he was doing it. He stretched his legs out so they were placed on either side of John and he began to rock on his lap. The feelings of arousal and pleasure that hit him were welcomed. They didn't replace the negative feelings but they made him forget about them for the time being.

John kissed Sherlock back gently, slowly rocking his hips against him, feeling Sherlock's arousal grow. John groaned and felt his own cock begin to thicken, his movements quickening as his arousal grew. With one hand he tangled his fingers in Sherlock's hair, deepening their kiss, licking his bottom lip for permission to enter; the other hand snaked around Sherlock's waist and pulled him closer to his arousal, their cocks sliding together through their thin pyjama bottoms.

John groaned out an 'I love you, I love you, oh god, I fucking love you,' before he slowly flipped their positions. Now he was rutting over a very debauched and pliant Sherlock, sucking his tongue into his mouth and nipping it before his own came out to greet it.

'So are we gonna cum in our trousers like a couple of bloody teenagers?' John whispered against Sherlock's lips, his hips snapping sharply, eliciting a moan from the pair of them.

Sherlock's heart pounded in his chest erratically. 'Let's,' he whispered back before once again ensuring that his lips were attached to John's. He met each thrust John gave with a sharp and expert one of his own and almost laughed out loud at the strange noises John was making. John whimpered and groaned and moaned as he writhed above Sherlock, positioning their cocks to slide against one another with each thrust. His arm wrapped around Sherlock's waist and he lifted him up slightly, the new angle allowing him to rut against him more forcefully. His fingers tangled in his hair gripped hard, holding Sherlock's head so their tongues could meet again and slide against each other, almost dancing a strange sort of waltz in their mouths.

Sherlock shifted, groaned, and wiggled beneath John, bathing in ecstasy. He moved his long, spidery fingers and shoved them up John's top, noting how the action made John shiver. He started to write circles on John's stomach. They were Gallifreyan. He could remember being bored one night and learning the completely fictional language. John was in that memory too and laughter. So much laughter filled that glorious memory.

John faltered in his movements as Sherlock drew circles on his stomach. They were words he knew all too well, words he wasn't sure Sherlock would even remember. He was writing in the Doctor's native language, and he was writing beautiful words of love, friendship, and intimacy.

John felt tears in his eyes again, but they were tears of joy this time around. He kissed Sherlock fervently, his hips picking up their pace, rutting against his lover who was writing words of encouragement and endearment along his stomach.

He remembered the day Sherlock had decided to learn the fictional language out of boredom. John had once done the same with Elvish back in Uni, writing notes to himself on his assignments in the language. One time a professor could read what he'd written and had responded back. John still had the paper stashed away somewhere. But with Sherlock and Gallifreyan, he had taken to writing on the walls, on the table, and eventually on himself. When John got back from his shift at the surgery, Sherlock was covered in black and blue circles. He looked like someone who had gotten into a really bad fist fight and had come out the worst of the two. And John had laughed. He had laughed so hard he fell to the floor where he found more writing and then he laughed harder. John had learned some of the language that day as well. Sherlock taught him the basics, common words, and words John used most frequently. John could still remember how to write them, and for Sherlock to remember was the best memory he could have asked for.

He forced himself back to the present, rutting against his lover with newfound force and stamina, gripping him tightly, bringing him closer. God, John was close, he was so close, but he wanted Sherlock to cum first. He rocked faster, sliding his length along the most sensitive spot of Sherlock's, making sure to hit it with every upward stroke.

Sherlock's hands stilled for a moment as every inch of his body was overcome by a strange yet soothing heat. He titled his head back and yelled John's name. All the while he resumed his fingers' actions. He wrote words that were perhaps too complicated for John to know but the patterns were so beautiful and intricate that he hoped it would convey his feelings at the current moment in time.

John didn't understand what Sherlock was writing anymore but that didn't matter. He was still writing, still remembering, and that was the most beautiful thing to John. He thrust faster, feeling Sherlock's hands falter just slightly as he was brought closer. John buried his nose where neck met shoulder, licking a thick, wet stripe before leaning in to Sherlock's ear.

'I want you to scream for me when you cum, Sherlock,' he said, rutting faster, feeling Sherlock coming undone beneath him. 'I want you to holler, cry, scream, yell until your throat is sore. I want everyone in this ruddy hospital to know who you love, to know what we're doing, and to know just how fucking amazing I make you feel. Scream for me, Sherlock.' And with that he wrenched Sherlock's neck back and bit down on the junction between his neck and shoulder.

That's exactly what Sherlock did. He screamed John's name until his mouth ran dry and his voice was completely lost. Tears of utter joy ran down his face and his head lolled to an awkward angle as the waves of pleasure toppled him over the edge. John's hips stuttered as he felt Sherlock's release, his teeth biting harder into Sherlock's flesh as he neared his own. He thrust harshly against him, so close his entire body was shaking. He pulled against Sherlock's waist, his now sated cock shifting to a new position that hit John's most sensitive spot and he gasped and came with a harsh cry, Sherlock's name escaping from his lips. John collapsed against his lover, very much sated and exhausted. He smiled goofily against Sherlock's chest and nuzzled his nose against the underside of his chin.

'What were you writing?' he asked in a soft voice. 'Just before you came. The words were so intricate that they felt beautiful. What were they?'

Sherlock grinned and kissed John's nose. 'I believe it was a combination of both our names and the word eternity.'

John hummed and pressed himself closer. 'Yes, you and me for all eternity,' he sighed happily.

'I believe it's called marriage,' Sherlock replied tenderly.

'One day, I promise,' John whispered, linking the fingers of his left hand with Sherlock's. 'And I'll propose properly before we do, with a ring and everything.'

'Not if I get there first dear,' Sherlock laughed lightly, squeezing John's hand.

'Really?' he asked, sitting up so he could look at Sherlock's face. 'You would propose to me?'

'I believe that's what I just implied. Dear god, what must it be like to be in your mind?' Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes in a way that only he could pull off.

'Not everyone can think coherently after having a fucking amazing orgasm, Sherlock,' John teased. 'You have to give me time to get my faculties back.' He laid back down against Sherlock's chest, listening to his heartbeat.

'I want to take you back to the flat,' he said softly. 'I want to see if maybe it will trigger any lingering memories.'

'Yes, why not?' Sherlock shrugged. 'Though I don't see what good it will do. Most of my memories are truly fucked.'

'Well, if the trip doesn't trigger any memories we can at least put on fresh clothes. Though I'm sure most of our belongings are back at your manor house. And I don't really want to go back there right now,' John murmured.

'Quite right too,' Sherlock said. 'We could always go on a shopping trip. That could be a spot of fun.'

'Sherlock Holmes going shopping,' John giggled. 'Never thought I'd see the day where you would actually want to go shopping.' He nuzzled into his chest and grinned. 'Yes, let's get out of here, go back to the flat for fresh clothes, and go shopping.'

'Yes, let's,' Sherlock agreed, humming in thought. 'We could make it a little interesting. We could choose each other's clothes.' He gave John a big glowing smile. 'Prepare yourself for some tight leather trousers.'

'I think your arse would look better in tight leather trousers,' John groaned and hummed, the mental image of Sherlock in leather making his cock lurch. He forced himself to sit up before he got carried away, sliding off the bed and heading to the bathroom to clean up a bit.

Their clothes from last night were still strewn on the floor and John smiled at the memory. While his arse was still sore he didn't regret having such rough, mind blowing sex. He relieved himself before removing his cum-stained trousers, putting his jeans and jumper back on before grabbing Sherlock's clothes and heading back into the room.

'Here, put these back on,' he instructed, tossing Sherlock the clothes. 'I'm going to go check you out and then call us a cab. We'll visit your brother first if you want, and then we'll be off.'

Sherlock began to shove on his clothes at a frantic rate. Once he was done he sighed and stretched out on the hospital bed with a big grin spreading across his features. 'I can't wait to get out of here. I just want to get away to, I don't know, escape all of this.'

'We need a holiday,' John mused. 'Get out of London, go somewhere warm and green. I don't know. You stay here, maybe clean up, and I'll be right back.' John pulled his shoes on and walked to the lift, heading for the main desk to check Sherlock out of the hospital. He was surprised no nurses had checked up on them after their rather loud activities. Maybe Rory or Mycroft had warned them, or simply the fact that Mycroft was on the same floor he probably had them all cleared out. Privacy and all that.

The nurse at the desk was young, probably still in school, and she flirted with John to no end until he casually mentioned he and his boyfriend were going home. She stopped flirting but kept asking him questions about how to handle boys. He just rolled his eyes and walked away. Thankfully she had cleared Sherlock for leaving before he did, so he just went back up to Sherlock's floor and entered his room.

'We're all set to go,' he said. 'We should probably stop by your brother's because I'm pretty sure he still has my mobile. And that might come in handy if we're going out.'

Sherlock hopped off of the bed and sighed a little wearily. 'I'm not entirely sure he'll want to see me. I did say some pretty mean things to him the other night.'

'Oh, Sherlock,' John tutted. 'It'll be alright. If you don't want to see him that's fine. I'll pop in for a spell, let him know we're leaving, grab my mobile, and get out of there.'

'I might as well make an appearance,' Sherlock retorted. 'He is my brother after all. What do normal people call the need to see their family? Ah, sentiment, right?' He couldn't have sounded more sarcastic if he'd tried.

'Sentiment isn't all bad,' John said. 'You have sentimental feelings towards me, and you seem to enjoy them. Well, the pleasurable ones at least. But let's go see your brother really quick. And be nice. If you feel like you should apologise then do it, alright?'

'Alright,' Sherlock groaned. 'You're starting to sound like my mother.'

'Whom I still need to meet,' John grinned. He clasped Sherlock's hand and they left the room, heading down to Mycroft's. John knocked lightly, just in case Mycroft was sleeping.

'You would really like her,' Sherlock smiled softly at John as a slightly disheveled Greg answered the door.

'Hey,' John smiled, concern in his eyes. 'You alright? You look a bit out of it, mate.'

'Yeah, I'm ok. Just you know...' He glanced nervously over his shoulder '... Mycroft,' Greg replied.

'I'm not deaf Gregory!' Mycroft exclaimed from inside the room. 'I know that you're talking about me.'

'Has he been giving you trouble?' John asked.

'No, not at all,' Greg smiled sweetly. 'Haven't you My?' He turned to face the government official.

'I've been on my best behaviour inspector,' came Mycroft's reply. John blushed, finally realising what they had most likely been up to.

'Right, well, Sherlock and I were just stopping by as we're headed out. I was hoping I might be able to get my mobile back as well.'

'You can come in. I'm sure Gregory won't mind.'

Greg nodded. 'Yeah - come on in,' he said awkwardly.

'Dear god I think I'm disturbed for life,' Sherlock whispered down John's ear.

'Me too,' John whispered back. He stepped inside, Sherlock close behind, and blinked at how red faced Mycroft looked.

'Definitely scarred for life,' he whispered under his breath.

'The phone's just over there. 'Mycroft nodded to his bedside table, smiling slightly at both Sherlock's and John's discomfort. John snatched it and shoved it in his pocket, blushing at the obvious activity Greg and Mycroft had been participating in. Were he and Sherlock like that?

'Thanks,' he nodded curtly. 'I, uh, hope you recover soon. And, well, if you need to talk about anything call me.' He turned to Greg. 'I'll see you Wednesday.'

'Yeah, course. Wouldn't miss it for the world,' Greg smirked. Mycroft simply nodded in understanding and Sherlock was left mouthing the word 'Wednesday?'

John smirked and said, 'I'll explain later.' He turned back to Mycroft. 'Get better soon. I'll be back to check on you.' He pointed a finger at Greg. 'And don't over exert yourself with him. You need to heal first before you can do,' he waved his hand in the air vaguely, 'anything else.'

'I don't know what you're implying,' Greg huffed, turning a bright red.

'And here I am wishing I didn't know what you're implying,' Sherlock hissed down John's ear.

Mycroft laughed loudly. 'I'll see you soon, John.'

'Yes. Goodbye Mycroft. Greg,' he nodded curtly, ushering Sherlock from the room. As soon as the door clicked behind them John let out a huff of laughter.

'That wasn't funny!' Sherlock exclaimed. 'That was disturbing.'

'You were what was funny,' John snorted. 'Your face. God! That was priceless.' He hit the button of the lift, waiting for it to arrive. 'And Wednesday is the day Greg and I agreed to meet to discuss you two. Like what we did in the cafeteria the other day.'

'You're going to chat about our sex life with Greg each Wednesday?' Sherlock asked in disbelief.

'Yep,' John nodded. 'And Greg is going to talk about his and your brother's. But it won't always be about the sex. We'll probably complain a little too. Tell funny stories and whatnot.' The lift finally arrived and the two climbed in, John hitting the main floor button as the doors closed.

'Would you like some more stories to talk about?' Sherlock asked, wriggling his eyebrows. He reached out and pressed the stop button, freezing the lift in place.

John flushed deep red. He swallowed thickly and turned to Sherlock, his pupils blown wide. 'Yes,' he whispered. 'God yes.' He grabbed Sherlock and pulled him flush against him, moulding his lips to his. Sherlock allowed John that kiss before breaking away and pushing him to his knees.

'I think you know what to do from here,' he grinned.

'Oh I most certainly do,' John moaned. His hands grasped the back of Sherlock's thighs, stroking lazily. He nosed against Sherlock's crotch, inhaling deeply. He smelled like sex and it was invigorating. He pulled Sherlock's trousers down so his erection could spring free. He mouthed along it, his tongue sneaking out and tasting every now and again until Sherlock's knees were shaking and a bead of pre-cum leaked from the head of his cock.

John stroked him a few times before licking the bead from the head, swirling his tongue around it before slowly sucking Sherlock into his mouth.

Sherlock gripped his fingers into the material of John's shirt. 'That's it, John. Torture me. Show me my place.' He shoved himself deeper into John's throat, practically choking him.

John spluttered but swallowed Sherlock down, slowly easing him down his throat until his nose was tickled by Sherlock's curls. The smell of sex was even stronger there and John moaned at the scent. He swallowed around Sherlock's cock before sliding off, swirling his tongue around the head and plunging back down.

Since Sherlock had already had one release he could feel himself coming undone pretty quickly. 'Jawwn!' he moaned, sliding down the lift wall and coming into John's mouth at a rapid and almost painful pace. John swallowed Sherlock's load, some dribbling down his chin as Sherlock came rather quickly. He licked Sherlock's cock clean before wiping his chin with the back of his hand, licking that clean as well. He kissed Sherlock deeply, letting him taste himself on his tongue, humming into the kiss.

Sherlock pressed his lips tighter to John's before jolting backwards. 'We should go. You have just given me a blow job in a public lift. And well...' He paused and glanced to one corner of the lift. 'There is a CCTV camera.'

John's eyes widened and glanced up to the corner Sherlock indicated. 'Fuck,' he swore, pressing his forehead to Sherlock's chest as he flushed for an entirely different reason. He hoisted Sherlock's trousers up and started the lift again before getting up and helping Sherlock to do the same.

'Thanks,' Sherlock murmured, clinging on to John, exhausted from the wonders John's tongue had done to him. 'We've got to get out of here, now.'

'I agree,' John nodded. The lift stopped and the doors opened. John peered out, almost expecting security to be waiting for them. As soon as he deemed it clear he and Sherlock booked it to the main doors, exiting the building in a flurry. As soon as they were outside John huffed a laugh while searching for a taxi.

'Next time you say no to sex in public lifts, ok?' Sherlock burst out into laughter. 'That's not going to happen.'

'I don't want to spend time in lock up for pleasuring you,' John smirked, finally flagging down a cab. 'I love you, but I'm not going to jail for giving you a blow job in public.' He opened the cab door and helped Sherlock inside before sitting down next to him. '221B Baker Street,' John told the cabbie. The man nodded and headed off, John trying to reign in his giggles.

'Both of us know that you wouldn't even think about not pleasuring me,' Sherlock whispered. 'Besides I'm sure Mycroft would be able to get us out of any major trouble.'

'I'm sure he would,' John whispered back. 'Not that he wouldn't chew us out himself.' He smirked and linked his fingers with Sherlock's.

'I really want you,' Sherlock purred loudly, squeezing John's thigh with the hand that wasn't linked with John's fingers. John blushed and glanced to the cabbie. He was smirking.

'Once we get back to the flat,' John whispered. 'Not in public. Once we get back home, in our own bed. I promise.'

'Good god you make me a horny bastard,' Sherlock murmured down John's ear, nibbling at his neck, and squeezing John's thigh tighter.

'You have no idea how happy that makes me,' John purred, arching into Sherlock's touch, spreading his legs a little wider. 'Knowing that I, boring, plain, John Watson M.D. can turn the great Sherlock Holmes into a horny bastard.'

'You,' nibble, 'are not,' nibble, 'boring,' squeeze, 'or plain.'

John moaned softly. 'Not anymore, no,' he said softly. 'Not since I met you. Before I was certainly boring. But now... You make me feel extraordinary.'

'You are extraordinary – in my mouth,' Sherlock giggled against John's neck.

'And you're pretty damn extraordinary up my arse,' John snickered.

'You haven't experienced anything yet honey,' Sherlock said, licking a line up John's neck.

John shivered and slumped down in his seat. 'Neither have you,' he whispered. 'Not as far as you can remember. Not many people get the opportunity to lose their virginity again. What do you say, love? You up for it?' He trailed his fingers up Sherlock's thigh and squeezed.

Sherlock thought about it for a moment before nodding nervously. 'For you I'd do anything.'

'I'll go slow,' John whispered, drawing Gallifreyan circles on Sherlock's thigh. 'I want you to be comfortable.' He wrote 'love' at least three times before moving on to 'dear,' 'promise,' and 'eternity.'

'Thanks, dear Watson,' he smiled softly and pressed a firm kiss to John's lips. John hummed into the kiss, his hand reaching to cup Sherlock's jaw tenderly.

'Are we almost home?' Sherlock questioned through the tender kiss. John hummed and glanced to the cabbie. He held up a hand, all five fingers up.

'Five more miles,' John whispered, drawing Sherlock in for another tender kiss. Those five miles flew by and neither man talked. They simply held each other close and kissed each other with a mutual fondness.

* * *

So, the boys will return to Baker Street next chapter. Sexy times will indeed ensue. The whole chapter is basically porn. Just a warning ;)

See you all next week!

TSA + IB


	17. Coming Home

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock

Me: John

_Warnings for this chapter: Men going at it, oral sex, anal sex, loss of virginity (again), instructed masturbation. Oh, and John has a nipple kink. Yeah, this entire chapter is porn. Enjoy!_

* * *

Chapter 17 – Coming Home

Three awkward coughs from the cabbie and John finally pulled away to see they were outside 221.

'We're home, Sherlock,' he whispered, handing the cabbie the fare plus a little extra for putting up with their affection. He opened the cab door, helping Sherlock out, the cabbie taking off almost as soon as the door closed.

The two men stood outside 221, John clutching Sherlock's hand tightly.

'Home,' Sherlock breathed out. 'You have no idea how weird it is to say that word. For me it feels like it's been a long time since I've had a home.'

'I know love, I know,' John said softly, squeezing his hand. 'But this has been your home since I've known you. Almost a year and a half. We live up on the second floor, the sitting room is just through those windows.' He pointed up and sighed. He had missed their little flat, their home, and it was good to see it again.

'Our landlady Mrs Hudson lives downstairs,' John said. 'She thinks of you like her son, and she's probably been worried about us since the break in. So, if you see her, please be nice to her. I know you love her just as much as she loves you. We'll explain to her what happened soon, then we'll go shopping, alright?'

Sherlock smiled fondly. 'Yes, I can remember her slightly. Likes to talk a lot, kind, and she always insisted on not being our house keeper.'

John smiled. 'Yes, she would always insist that even though she was the one who always ended up cleaning the flat.' He squeezed Sherlock's hand again. 'Ready to go inside?'

'Ready as I'll ever be, yeah.' Sherlock gripped tightly onto John's hand.

John nodded and walked to the door, fumbling in his pocket for the key. He found it and unlocked the door, being mindful to be quiet as he didn't want to alert Mrs Hudson to their presence just yet. He gestured to the stairs, closing the door behind them. He let Sherlock lead, following him up the stairs to the sitting room. Thankfully it had been cleaned since the break in. He watched Sherlock as his gaze swept across the room.

Sherlock's eyes scanned the flat's sitting room, searching for a sense of familiarity. There was certainly that shot of déjà vu but apart from that no memories came to him. He let out a long breath and walked over to the sofa, flopping down on it in defeat.

'Nothing,' he muttered. 'Not one measly memory.'

John sighed and frowned. He hadn't expected as such, but it would have been nice for him to remember at least shooting the wall. He nodded toward the kitchen and Sherlock's bedroom, letting Sherlock explore. Sherlock got up to his feet and firstly ventured into his bedroom. It was clean, mundane, and extremely un-lived in. He scrambled through his drawers and found notebooks and random bits and bobs left over from experiments, and then came the pleasant surprise of finding several handguns and a long silver knife. He popped his head outside of his bedroom.

'Was I a psychopathic pirate?' he asked, beaming from ear to ear.

John lingered in the doorway, leaning against it. 'I suppose you could say that,' he smiled. 'But I don't think you're a psychopath. You're self-described as a high-functioning sociopath.'

Sherlock laughed. 'Which explains my vast range of fascinating weapons, how?'

'You've always been experimenting with various weapons. Seeing the ways different knives left different lacerations, different bullets left different sized entrance and exit wounds. And you kept the weapons for later reference,' John explained, coming into the room. He peered into the drawer and smiled. 'I don't know if you kept them for scientific purposes or sentimental. Probably a combination of the two, like your skull.'

'Oh, you mean Robert?' Sherlock mused. 'Yes I suppose that does count as sentimentality.'

He grinned devilishly. 'Tell you what. If you get on that bed of mine I'll show you how sentimental I can be.' He growled like a lion hunting down its prey, eyeing John hungrily.

'I thought you named it Billy?' John asked, his breath hitching at Sherlock's growl. He shut the bedroom door and climbed on Sherlock's bed, sitting on his heels, waiting for Sherlock to make a move.

'I must have acquired another skull. I had one as a child too, called Robert. Mother wasn't very pleased by that, as you can probably imagine,' Sherlock replied, clambering onto John's lap.

'Yes, you did acquire another one,' John answered. 'He sat on the mantle over the fireplace. You said he was your friend, and you talked to him sometimes.' His hands wrapped around Sherlock's waist, pulling him down onto his lap.

'Now, why don't you show me how sentimental you can be, Mr Holmes?' he purred, rocking against him gently.

'Well Mr Watson, I'm going to first of all show you exactly how much I love you.' Sherlock pressed a number of small kisses on John's jaw. 'And then I hope you return the favour.'

'Of course love,' he moaned. 'One good turn deserves another.'

'So what do you want from me?' Sherlock smirked. 'I'll happily oblige with anything you request.'

'Start with kissing me everywhere,' John whispered. 'Explore, find the spots that make me shiver and moan. Use that talented tongue of yours. When I want more I'll let you know.'

'As you wish.' Sherlock pulled John's top off with ease and placed kisses from the very tip of John's chin to the waistband of his trousers. He began using his tongue to run up and down the older man's ribs, counting each one as he traced their outline beneath his tanned skin. John fell back against the mattress, letting Sherlock explore. He wasn't sure which parts liked Sherlock's tongue the best; all he knew was that he was shivering and moaning constantly as Sherlock's tongue explored him. He discovered his ribs were ticklish though as he giggled each time Sherlock's tongue travelled over them.

'Kiss me,' John demanded. 'Kiss me, please.'

Sherlock moved so his entire weight was pressed down on John and teasingly began to kiss his gorgeous other half. John groaned and grasped Sherlock's arse, pulling his groin down so John could rock against it. He kissed his lover fervently, when their lips touched, groaning when they pulled away to kiss at his throat or ear.

'You have too many clothes on,' John moaned, his hands travelling up Sherlock's back and grasping the hem of his shirt. 'Let me help you with that.'

'Go ahead,' Sherlock ground out as he rutted against John like a wild animal. John ripped Sherlock's shirt from him, tossing it to the floor. His hands explored Sherlock's bare chest, the flat planes of his stomach, his broad shoulders; learning him all over again. He glanced up at Sherlock, writhing above him, and smirked.

'I've been wanting to do this again for a while,' he whispered, sitting up and wrapping an arm around Sherlock's waist. He leaned closer to Sherlock's chest, inhaling his scent, before clamping his mouth around one of Sherlock's nipples. Sherlock felt a spark of fire flood through his thin and gangly frame. That felt good. Actually that felt more than good. He let out a small sound, not quite a groan, and not quite a grunt. He leaned forwards, nuzzling John's chest. It would only be fair if he gave John the same brilliant feeling that he was feeling himself. He licked a circle around one of John's nipples before sucking on it as John was doing so nicely on his own nipple. John gasped at the warm, tingly sensation that traveled straight to his groin as Sherlock sucked on his nipples.

'Gah, oh, fuck,' John moaned, arching into Sherlock's touch, rocking against him, holding him close. 'Oh Sherlock, oh Sherlock, yes, yes.' He was getting closer to his release, he wanted to cum, but he wanted to cum inside Sherlock.

'Sherlock, Sherlock stop,' he panted. He pushed Sherlock off him, a hurt look on his lover's face. 'It's fine, love, you did fantastic. I just don't want to cum yet. I'd like to make love to you, if you're alright with that.' Sherlock's eyes widened in his skull in a slight pang of fear but he nodded all the same.

'Does it hurt?' he questioned softly. 'I know that I hurt you, but I was being quite rough.' He gazed upon John, awaiting an answer cautiously, like a child trying to comprehend something completely new and alien.

'If you do it wrong it hurts,' John said, caressing Sherlock's sides. 'But if you do it slow, do it right, then it feels wonderful. It might burn from the stretch at first, but that eases pretty quickly.' He brought a hand up to Sherlock's face, cupping his chin in his hand. 'I promise to make it comfortable for you. I'll go slow, and if it hurts at all you tell me to stop, alright?'

Sherlock gave John a small smile. 'I suppose this wasn't an issue last time. Me being cautious? I was, after all, high as a kite from what I have been told.'

'The first time this happened you were drugged on a hallucinogenic Viagra solution and your cock refused to cum to the point of pain. So, in order to help you find your release, I fucked you until you came screaming,' John mused, pulling at the drawstring of Sherlock's pyjama bottoms.

'But after that you weren't so cautious. You fucked me soon after, and then I fucked you, and we basically took turns for a couple days. But you were definitely a lot more adventurous after that first time.' He pulled the bottoms down until they rested under Sherlock's arse, kneading the flesh there.

'You wanted to experiment with different positions, different places, even tying my hands behind my back with your favourite scarf.' He looked up at Sherlock from underneath his lashes, licking his lips. 'And I hope we get to try all of that again.' He shoved Sherlock's trousers to his knees, his erection bobbing free between them. John undid the button of his own trousers, sliding them down and off as he switched positions with Sherlock. He then pulled Sherlock's trousers off completely, both of them naked on their bed like it should have always been. John reached into the side table, pulling out the lubricant and coating his fingers, rubbing them together to warm the gel.

'I'm going to put one of my fingers in you, alright?' John told Sherlock. 'It's coated with lubricant so it won't burn as bad, and I'll go slow. Tell me to stop or go slower if you need to.' He circled the digit around Sherlock's puckered hole, letting him get used to the feeling before he attempted to push it inside.

Sherlock felt his heart stop beating for a moment. And where was the air? Where had all the air gone? He gasped, both struggling for breath and gulping in huge amounts of oxygen at the same time. The feeling stung a little but it was nothing he couldn't handle and he pushed backwards, egging John on. John pushed his finger in to the first knuckle, twisting it slightly so Sherlock would stretch around it. While his body was tense he was pushing back, so John pushed his finger in a little further, twisting it as he pulled it back out. He watched Sherlock's face, looking for any sense of discomfort. Sherlock closed his eyes and whimpered; partly because his body was feeling such strange occurrences but partly because he was slightly fearful of what came next.

'I'm going to add another finger now, Sherlock,' John said softly, working his finger in and out slowly. 'Brace yourself.' He brought his finger out entirely then slowly began easing two in, pushing past the first ring of muscle with relative ease.

'Ah... John!' Sherlock cried out, pushing downwards, desperate for more, wanting more, gasping for his breath, turning a dark crimson colour.

'That's it Sherlock, yes,' John encouraged him, scissoring his fingers slightly to stretch him more. 'You're doing great love. One more finger after this and then I'll take you.'

'God, yes, take me.' Sherlock let out a low wailing sound, letting John's fingers delve in deeper. John slipped in his third finger easily, pushing further in. He curled them slightly and found Sherlock's prostate, trailing his fingers across it lightly as he pulled them in and out of Sherlock's now stretched entrance.

Sherlock's jaw swung open and he grunted loudly. 'What the hell did you just do?' he managed to ask before another bolt of elicit pleasure rolled through him, and there it was again, and again.

'That's your prostate, Sherlock,' John grinned. 'Feels good doesn't it?' He hit it again for good measure.

'Feels bloody fantastic!' Sherlock yelled, his back arching in the air. John's fingers now slid in and out of Sherlock easily, squicky liquid sounds escaping now and again.

'I think you're ready, Sherlock,' John panted. He removed his fingers and slicked up his cock, positioning the head against Sherlock's entrance. 'You ready?'

'As I'll ever be.' Sherlock made a keen whining sound.

'Alright,' John nodded. He pushed in slowly, revelling in how tight Sherlock felt. He gasped an almost choked sounding moan before pushing in further, going slow for Sherlock's benefit. When he was buried balls deep he stopped, catching his breath and watching Sherlock. Sherlock was humming, moaning, and making strange predatory sounds.

'You're big,' he panted, pushing himself onto John as hard as possible. 'Feels brilliant.'

'You feel pretty brilliant yourself,' John grunted, moving slowly out before easing back in.

'Oh fuck!' Sherlock roared, rocking against John harder and faster. John grit his teeth and snapped his hips sharply, gasping at how wonderful it all felt. He pulled out almost completely before ramming himself back in hard.

'Oh god!' he cried, quickening his pace.

Sherlock's eyes did a front flip in his skull and his world turned a little hazy. He let out a small growl and stuck his tongue out, breathing heavily with the effort it was taking not to cum right there and then. John growled and lifted Sherlock's hips, the new angle allowing him to delve a little deeper. He leaned over Sherlock, his hips quickening slightly. His right arm propped him up; his left snaked up one of Sherlock's thighs, leaving a small trail of lube behind. He gingerly ran his fingertips up the length of Sherlock's cock, teasing, letting him know what he wanted to do.

Sherlock grabbed at the teasing hand. 'Don't play games with me, Watson. You won't win.' He moved the hand to wrap firmly around his throbbing member and held it in place.

'But it's quite fun to see you like this,' John grinned, wanking Sherlock in time to the snapping of his hips. 'Vulnerable, open, _mine._' He growled the last word before leaning further down to nip at Sherlock's neck, leaving little indents in his skin.

'Oh god, I can't hold on much longer, you tease,' Sherlock gasped, feeling himself losing complete control over his body.

'I want to hear you, Sherlock,' John growled, his hips faltering slightly in their fast pace. He was close too, so close. His hand quickened and tightened on Sherlock's cock, pushing him closer. 'Let me hear you.'

'I'm getting fucked by John Watson!' Sherlock proclaimed to the world, screaming as he felt himself cumming messily across John, himself, and the unsuspecting bed. John laughed at the proclamation before gritting his teeth, trying to hold back his climax a little longer. It was difficult with Sherlock's cock throbbing in his hand and his arse clenching him tightly as he came. He gasped and panted and moaned as he thrust harder and faster, dragging out Sherlock's orgasm as long as possible.

When he couldn't hold back any more he rammed himself as deep as he could inside his lover and screamed, 'I'm fucking Sherlock Holmes!' at the top of his lungs before cumming long and hard inside him.

'Fuck, fuck, bollocks!' Sherlock screamed until his lungs burned from the effort and he was just left as weak as a baby, crumpled in the sheets, his eyes closed, and his mouth wide agape. John did his best not to collapse outright on top of Sherlock. Instead he lowered himself down on shaky limbs, laying beside him but with most of his weight on him. He gulped down deep breaths, pulled out of Sherlock, and rested his head near his chest, listening to the echo of his erratic heartbeat.

'Thank you,' he whispered.

Sherlock breathed out heavily. 'What for?' he mumbled, still quite out of it.

'For letting me do that,' John smiled, closing his eyes and breathing in Sherlock's scent. 'I know it couldn't have been easy for you, letting me take your virginity again, letting me penetrate you and make love to you. So, thank you. Thank you for trusting me enough to let me do that.'

'It wasn't easy, believe me,' Sherlock sighed softly. 'It was terrifying but – amazing at the same time.'

'That's normal,' John mused. 'I was nervous the first time you made love to me as well.' He pulled himself closer to Sherlock, his head now resting on his chest. 'And I was a little nervous just now, making love to you. Because in your mind it was your first time, and I wanted to make it comfortable and pleasurable.'

'It was both of those things and more,' Sherlock purred softly.

'Good,' John sighed, smiling against Sherlock's chest. 'I'm glad you enjoyed it. Although, that was pretty obvious.' He trailed his fingers through Sherlock's cum that was still spattered across his chest. 'We should probably clean you up.'

'Yes,' Sherlock grunted. 'Then I believe we will be off to buy some new clothes.'

'Yes, we will,' John smiled. He sat up and clambered out of their bed. He went to the bathroom and grabbed a flannel, heading back to their room and gently cleaning Sherlock's stomach and chest.

'Much better,' he grinned, wiping his hand clean. 'Now, let's get dressed and get some more clothes.'

Sherlock shuffled off the bed and stood to his feet with a small grunt as his arse stung slightly now. 'Would you like to do the honour of dressing me?' he asked, a smirk tugging at his heart shaped lips.

John smirked and walked over to Sherlock's wardrobe. He pulled it open, frowning at the limited choices. Mycroft's men had been thorough in packing clothes. John hummed as he rifled through the clothes. He pulled out a pair of pants and jeans, tossing them in the direction of the bed. Picking a shirt was rather difficult though. Most of them were stretched and worn from being slept in or stained from multiple experiments. Surprisingly, he found a couple button-downs shoved in the back. He pulled one out, a dark red that looked like it might actually fit without the buttons straining.

He turned back to Sherlock with a smile. He walked back over to him, unbuttoning the shirt. He pulled Sherlock's arms through, draping the soft material across his shoulders.

'I can't believe I've never seen you wear this before,' he mused. 'It's a gorgeous colour on you. Almost as beautiful as the purple.' He buttoned the shirt up, rolling the sleeves up to Sherlock's elbows.

'I can't remember,' Sherlock shrugged. 'I must have had some reason for it. It's nice material and the colour compliments my skin tone.' He hummed and pursed his lips together. 'Of course it is a little loose on me. I prefer my shirts skin tight.' He raised an eyebrow. 'But then you'd know that, wouldn't you?'

'Sometimes I think I can hear the buttons screaming in agony,' John smirked. 'Now, sit.' He pointed to the bed, reaching for the pants and jeans.

Sherlock sat down on the bed, grinning. He ran a hand through his curls, ruffling up the brown locks. 'It's not my fault that they can't hold the sexiness down.'

'You need to stay away from the fan forums,' John laughed. He pulled the pants on, prompting Sherlock to lift his bum so they sat on his hips. He pulled the jeans on, nearly hauling Sherlock off the bed to sit them on his hips, zipping and buttoning them up.

'I don't think I've ever seen you wear jeans before,' he purred, leaning over Sherlock. 'I wasn't even aware you owned a pair until now. And they make you look absolutely delicious. Good enough to eat.' He trailed his fingers lazily up Sherlock's thigh. 'Maybe later,' he grinned.

'Is my little hobbit getting greedy?' Sherlock cooed, standing to his feet and snickering. 'You really are like a little hobbit, John. See? I remember that. You being my hobbit.'

John smiled and nodded. 'I think your hobbit wants some second breakfast,' he smirked, standing on wobbly knees. 'And by "breakfast" I don't mean food.' He winked and licked his lips.

'Your mouth needs a break. Don't want to keep overfilling it with the large portions I give you,' he laughed, licking his lips teasingly.

'But you taste so wonderful,' John smirked, walking past Sherlock, his hand trailing over his chest. 'But you're right. We should take a break. Don't want to over exert ourselves now do we?' He walked out the door and into the kitchen, waiting for Sherlock to follow.

Sherlock followed John, standing behind him and wrapping his arms around his lover's back, gripping him in a bear sized hug. John let out a small squeak as Sherlock hugged him tight. He laughed and pressed himself closer to Sherlock's chest.

'All my clothes are still upstairs,' he said softly. 'I never got the chance to move my things to your room. If we were going to share it that is.'

'Of course you can move into my room. It would be a pleasure.' He hugged John a little tighter.

'Let me dress you,' Sherlock whispered, pressing a tender kiss to John's earlobe.

'Of course. But I'm afraid I don't own any leather trousers,' John smiled. 'Just, please don't dress me like a tart.'

'Would I do such a thing?' Sherlock giggled, sucking on the earlobe, humming.

'I suppose not, but you do particularly enjoy giving me erections at the most inopportune moments,' John moaned. 'Like now, for instance.'

'True, but I can't help it. You're gorgeous, positively gorgeous,' Sherlock purred softly.

'Stop turning me on or my trousers won't fit,' John pouted. 'That, or do something about this, preferably with that talented mouth.'

'No,' Sherlock hissed. 'I shall not.' He moved away from John. 'I don't want to risk dirtying my only fresh clothes. I have an idea though. Do you want to hear it?'

'At this point I'm up to listening to anything you have to say,' John moaned. 'Your voice is very erotic.'

'You go to your room and you wank it off – in front of me,' Sherlock demanded. 'That's an order.'

'Will you talk me through it?' John asked, walking to the stairs as quickly as he could with his erection.

'If you wish. Now hurry,' Sherlock barked, ushering John to speed up the stairs. John took the stairs two at a time, opening his door in a rush and jumping on his bed, turning to face the door just as Sherlock entered.

'How do you want me sir?' John asked, his body trembling in anticipation.

Sherlock kept a firm gaze on John's cock. 'Two hands running your full length at maximum speed, and I want you to squeeze so hard it brings tears to your eyes. Do you hear me?' he growled.

'Yes sir,' John nodded. He laced his fingers together, grasping his cock tightly, wincing at the pressure. He braced his feet against the mattress and began rutting into his hands, working himself up to the punishing pace Sherlock wanted him at.

'Harder, John!' Sherlock yelled in a sing-song voice. John clenched his eyes shut and wanked himself harder, his hands working faster than his hips. He groaned and grit his teeth, his head arching back, the veins in his neck popping out.

'Now slow, John. Slow down,' Sherlock hushed. 'So damn slow it drives you insane.'

John stopped his hips and moved his hands slowly up and down his entire length. He breathed through his nose, trying to get his heart rate to relax. But with how insanely slow his hands were moving it only beat faster. John let out a little whimper, shifting on the bed.

'Now imagine my hot mouth around you, swallowing you whole, devouring you.' Sherlock made a small noise of approval in the back of his throat.

'Oh god,' John moaned, squeezing himself tighter. His hips bucked involuntarily and he sucked in a harsh breath.

'And of course if you add my beautiful tongue into that equation...' he chortled.

'Fuck!' John swore, his back arching off the bed. 'Let me go faster! Please, sir, please!'

Sherlock cocked his head to one side. 'Ok, but remove one hand.' He eyed John intently. 'And make eye contact with me.'

John did as Sherlock asked, removing one hand that immediately gripped his comforter tightly, his other wanking faster. He forced himself to open his eyes, tilting his head so he could gaze upon his lover, thinking of his hot mouth around his cock. John moaned and almost closed his eyes, forcing himself to stare at Sherlock intensely. Sherlock rewarded John by making a range of obscene noises and dropping to his knees, edging closer. He grabbed John's spare hand and placed it on the erection straining inside of his jeans, forcing him to cup him.

'Feel how large you make me, John,' he whispered seductively. John cupped Sherlock's cock more firmly, fucking his own fist faster. His mouth hung open, staring into Sherlock's bright blue eyes. He was close, so very close. He let out a loud whimper, panting Sherlock's name as he squeezed them both tighter.

'Come on John. I think you can wank a little harder than that,' Sherlock smirked. 'And you can bloody grope me harder too.'

John gripped Sherlock so tight he could feel him pulsing through the fabric of his jeans. He worked his hand faster, his hips stuttering as he came right to the edge.

'Do I...' He gulped and sucked down a deep breath. 'Do I have permission to cum, sir? Because I'm very, very close sir.'

'You have permission,' Sherlock groaned, rutting into John's hand.

'Oh god, Sherlock!' John screamed, his back arching off the bed as he came. His other hand grasped Sherlock tightly and he managed to keep his eyes open, watching Sherlock watch him.

'Good boy,' Sherlock praised John. 'You held on much longer than I expected.' He leant over John's now collapsed body. 'Now to get you cleaned up.' He began to slurp John's cum up with his tongue, moaning at the taste of it on his taste buds. John moaned and sighed, relaxing against the mattress. He ran his fingers through Sherlock's curls as he licked him clean, shivering as his tongue felt cool against his heated flesh.

'Pick out my clothes after you clean me,' he said softly.

'Right, done,' Sherlock stated, standing to his full height with a wince. His erection was bulging out from his trousers impossibly large and prominent and by now the throbbing within his jeans was almost unbearable.

Sherlock struggled over to the wardrobe and wrenched it open. His eyes scanned the small collection of wool jumpers, patterned shirts, and cardigans. He smirked because the clothing really was John all over. He hummed in thought and eventually picked out a cream jumper as it felt familiar and brought a strange warmth to his heart. Hobbling back over to John he motioned for John to lift his arms as he gently helped him into the jumper.

John grinned at Sherlock's choice of jumper. It was the one he was wearing on their first case together. He also noticed the slight hobble in Sherlock's movements and smirked.

'If you don't do something about that erection you're going to be in a lot of pain and discomfort,' he said as Sherlock pulled the jumper over his head. As soon as his arms were through the sleeves he clamped his hands on Sherlock's buttocks, pulling him close.

'I can make quick work of that,' he whispered, wiggling his eyebrows seductively. 'Use my mouth, no mess, quick cleanup.' He mouthed at Sherlock's crotch, his fingers kneading his arse.

'Oh, very well,' Sherlock said, voice going up an octave as the wet warmth surrounded him. 'Make it quick though. I want to get some more clothes – or rather I want to pick out your clothes.' He bucked harshly into John's mouth.

John opened Sherlock's jeans and shoved them and his pants down to his knees, drawing Sherlock's engorged prick in his mouth and swallowing him whole. Sherlock's knees almost buckled then as the heat from John's mouth provided a heavy pressure to his cock. John gripped Sherlock's arse and pulled him further down his throat. His nose tickled but he ignored it. He pulled off slightly to lap his tongue around Sherlock's head before bobbing furiously, sucking tightly, hollowing his cheeks, using his tongue. This was supposed to be quick so John was pulling out all the stops. Sherlock grunted and shoved himself as deep as possible down John's throat.

'Not long now.' His voice wavered and his eyes glazed over. John never faltered in his movements, sucking Sherlock down at an unrelenting pace. A hand snuck between Sherlock's thighs and fondled his balls, squeezing them slightly.

That was Sherlock's breaking point. He yelped, thrust forward, and began spilling his seed down John's throat. John felt Sherlock's cum spurt down his throat, swallowing it all. He pulled back and off with an obscene pop and gasped for air, a line of saliva trailing from his chin to Sherlock's prick.

'Nice job,' he grinned, a little breathless, ruffling John's hair like he was praising a puppy. John smiled and pulled Sherlock's pants and jeans back on. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and settled back against the mattress, resting on his hands.

'Now get me some pants and trousers,' he said, wriggling his feet in the air. 'And socks so I can put my shoes on. Which you'll be needing too.'

Sherlock grabbed some red boxer shorts and a pair of skinny jeans, raising an eyebrow in questioning, but moved to slide them both onto John. He tugged at the zipper and laughed when he looked at his handiwork. It was very clear as to what John was hiding underneath his layers of clothing. Then he picked out a pair of wool socks as he thought that it was quite nippy outside and he wanted to keep his hobbit as warm as possible.

As he pulled on those socks John let out a small giggle. 'You're ticklish,' Sherlock stated with a smug grin.

'Mostly my feet, yes,' he giggled as Sherlock poked his foot again. 'But if you do that for too long I lash out and kick, as my sister found out the hard way. And I don't want to give you a bloody nose and split lip too, thank you very much.'

'Would you really do that to me?' Sherlock ran his fingers up and down John's feet. 'If you do that's no sex for a month – or maybe longer.'

'If I do it's an accident and please don't banish sex,' he ground out, forcing his feet not to kick out at Sherlock's face or groin. 'We tried that for a week and it didn't end well, you accidentally drugging me and then you waking up with no memory of me and all. Oh shit.' He groaned and collapsed against his bed. It was literally taking all of his strength to keep his feet from flying out. 'Sherlock, stop. Please stop. It doesn't tickle anymore, it hurts. And I don't want to hurt you.'

Sherlock sighed, moving his fingers to brush against John's sides. 'It was amusing,' he smiled softly. Another giggle popped from John's mouth as he continued to lightly trace his fingers over his ribs. 'Sure you're not very ticklish elsewhere? Somewhere you're less likely to hurt me?'

'My ribs tickle a little,' John admitted. 'Found that out when your tongue was exploring me earlier. I don't think I'll be so violent there.'

Sherlock smiled to himself as he began to draw patterns over John's ribs with his fingertips. John giggled, his tongue poking out between his teeth. He squirmed under Sherlock, sputtering laughter.

'That sound is so beautiful. I want to hear you laugh more often, ok?' Sherlock walked his fingers over John's ribs.

'Gah! Okay! Okay!' John laughed, wriggling beneath Sherlock's torturous fingers. He was red faced and breathless, but the tickling didn't hurt. In fact, it felt quite good. He looked into Sherlock's eyes and smiled, giggling as his fingers continued to play along his ribs. Sherlock moved his fingers delicately up John's top, tickling the bare skin below it.

'You're adorable. Like my own personal dose of adorableness.'

John squirmed and squealed and laughed uncontrollably, gasping for breath. A leg caught Sherlock behind one of his knees and pulled, making Sherlock's knee buckle and fall on top of him. John laughed again and ran his fingers up Sherlock's sides.

'It's nice to know I have that power,' he mused softly, finally catching his breath enough to speak. 'That I can make you smile just by laughing. Make you happy just by being me. It's a wonderful feeling. And you make me feel the same. Because I don't see you smile or laugh often enough, but when you do it warms me to my core and reminds me why I love you so much.'

'I'll try to smile more often if it makes you happy.' Sherlock moved his hands around John's waist and pulled him closer.

'It makes me very happy,' John smiled. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock's waist and held him close, resting his head beneath his shoulder.

'Now I'm rather sad however,' he sighed softly. 'I don't want to move from here but I know we have to.'

'I know,' John said softly, caressing his hair. 'But we can always cuddle in bed later tonight. And that sounds really nice. A quiet night in with you.'

'Coffee, Doctor Who, Chinese, and cuddles,' Sherlock smiled against John.

'Sounds like a wonderful date,' John smiled, pulling Sherlock down for a chaste kiss.

'I think we're far past the awkward teenage term "date,"' Sherlock whispered softly through the kiss.

'We seem to be going at this backwards,' John grinned. 'First declarations of love, then sex, then a date.' He giggled and kissed Sherlock again. 'But it is a date; there's no changing my mind about that.'

Sherlock hummed. 'My whole life has been a little backwards. Why stop now?'

'That is a very good point,' John hummed in agreement. He kissed him one last time before shifting. 'Let's get up and go out, get some clothes, maybe some food at Tesco's. Alright?'

He nodded. 'Yes, let's go to Tesco's.' He pulled John off the bed and up to his feet. 'There's something I thought I'd never have to say.'

'Same for me, but it's good to hear you say it,' John grinned. He rummaged around in his wardrobe for his shoes, pulling them on before going back down to Sherlock's room. He pulled out a pair of socks and Sherlock's black dress shoes. They seemed to be the only pair he owned.

'You may want to buy another pair of shoes, Sherlock,' John mused. 'I swear I've only ever seen you wear this pair.'

'Sure, why not? I might go for a more casual look. What do you think?' Sherlock questioned. 'I could become a hipster,' he chuckled.

John hummed and tried to picture Sherlock as a hipster. Thick framed glasses, suspenders, tweed jacket, a Starbucks coffee in one hand and an iPod in the other, a messenger bag slung over one shoulder containing his tablet or laptop. It wasn't a bad mental image, he even purred slightly, but all he could really see was an exaggerated version of the eleventh Doctor and he giggled.

'Maybe not hipster, but I wouldn't mind seeing you lazing about in jeans and a t-shirt every now and again instead of those tatty bedclothes.'

He pushed Sherlock onto his bed and pulled on the socks and shoes, tying the laces neatly in a bow. He pulled Sherlock to his feet and dusted off his shirt; not that it needed it, he just wanted to.

'Shall we be off my darling?' John smiled.

'"Darling?"' Sherlock quizzed. 'That is a rather strange term of endearment. I like it though,' he smirked. 'And as for t-shirts and jeans – that sounds good.'

'Sorry. I had a Clark Gable moment. I think "love" or "dear" suits you better.' John smiled and pulled Sherlock close. 'And I rather like your arse in jeans. Not that your dress trousers aren't nice, but they can't do to your bum what a good pair of jeans can.' He squeezed said bum and purred.

'Of course. In jeans I can tease you to a pliant mess.' He patted his arse and grinned. John purred and nuzzled Sherlock's jaw.

'We should go before I tear the only clean clothes you have off your body and ravish you,' he whispered.

'You wouldn't even dare,' Sherlock snarled back.

'Ooh, so defensive,' John purred, nipping Sherlock's jaw. 'I like that.'

'I bet you do.' Sherlock tilted his chin so John would get better access. John clasped Sherlock's head in his hands, tilting his head to the side so he could nip at his jaw and down his neck. He hummed against his skin and dipped his tongue into the hollow at Sherlock's throat.

'John,' Sherlock gasped. 'Stop. You're bloody going to make me cum in my pants.'

John hummed but pulled away, a little breathless. He looked at Sherlock's blown pupils and flushed face, blushing himself.

'Ok, we really should go before I have to fuck you again,' he breathed. 'Because you look extremely fuckable right now.'

'I _feel_ extremely fuckable,' Sherlock agreed softly.

'Later, I promise,' John smiled, placing a soft kiss to Sherlock's throat. He twined his fingers with Sherlock's and led him from the room and down the stairs. He locked the door behind them and managed to flag down a taxi for what felt like the first time in his life. At least while Sherlock was around. He still didn't know how the man seemed to procure taxis out of thin air sometimes. They clambered in, John telling the cabbie where they wanted to go, taking off in an almost comfortable silence.

* * *

I love the porn chapters ;) The boys go clothes shopping next chapter and some of John's insecurities arise. Whatever shall Sherlock do to make John feel better about himself? ;) See you all next week. And happy Red Pants Monday!

TSA + IB


	18. Shopping

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock

Me: John, random restaurant staff

Sorry for posting this so late. I was busy with yard work today plus random headaches. I've cured it with some tea, so I feel much better. There are no warnings for this chapter, it's mostly fluff and some angst. The next chapter is basically completely porn. ;)

Happy Red Pants Monday! See you next week.

TSA + IB

* * *

Chapter 18 – Shopping

The journey to the supermarket was filled with a soft silence. The only noise to break it was a thunderous growl let off by Sherlock's stomach. John's eyes widened and he smirked, shaking his head.

'I forgot,' he snorted. 'You haven't eaten in probably three, four days. We should get some food in you before we go anywhere else.'

'Starving.' Sherlock rubbed his stomach and licked his lips. 'What I would give for a full English breakfast.'

'Then a full English breakfast you'll get, my love,' John smiled, kissing Sherlock lightly on the lips.

'Stop here,' he told the cabbie, handing him their fare before exiting the vehicle. John walked a couple blocks before stopping outside a restaurant. A particular favourite of his and Sherlock's. Sherlock's stomach growled again. It was louder, if that were even possible.

'I recognise this place,' he muttered. 'Did we come here often?'

'Quite often,' John smiled. 'You were quite popular here, you and your deductions. The staff really liked them, especially when you would deduce customers who were particularly annoying that day. And you liked the food too, always going on for days about your meal before you were begging me to take you back.'

'Well the food must be good, since I rarely eat,' Sherlock grinned back at John.

'It really is.' John pushed the door open and the owner greeted them with warm handshakes, ushering them to their regular table.

'John! Sherlock! How wonderful to see you again!' he admonished, his somewhat Russian accent particularly thick that day. 'It's been so long!'

'Yes it has,' John agreed. 'We'll make the order simple. Two full English breakfasts and a pitcher of water.'

'Done and done,' the owner smiled, jotting it down on his pad of paper. 'Emily will be by with the water, da?' He smiled and walked off, barking orders to the chef, his brother, in their native tongue.

Sherlock sat, looking a little baffled at all the attention. 'Are we usually so popular?' he said in a hushed voice.

'Not usually no,' John answered in a soft voice. He smiled up at Emily as she brought their water, she smiled back politely. 'But you helped clear the owner's name, proving not only did he not have ties to the Russian mob but he had a solid alibi for the time of the murder. So, he lets us eat here for free when we visit.' He sipped at his water.

'And this is a family business too. The chef, the owner, the hostess, and one of the waiters are all family. Brothers, husband and wife, parents and son. I've always enjoyed how quaint it all is. I think you enjoyed the free food and the bustling Russian atmosphere.' John smiled and sipped at his water again.

'Ah, the three greatest cultures in the world: Russian, Italian, and French,' Sherlock nodded in agreement. 'It was the three cultures that I was practically brought up on as a child. And of course good old British traditions as well!' he exclaimed, shriveling up his nose. 'Though I never really saw anything great in our traditions. Sunday roast dinners and awkward conversation steering away from anything even remotely emotional.' He puffed out his cheeks and hung his head for a moment before pouring the water in the large jug into a glass and sipping at the cool liquid. 'I couldn't even shed a tear when my cat, Ash, died.' He shook his head and placed his glass back down. 'Sorry, I don't mean to bore you about my childhood. You must stop me if I start to wildly ramble. Not all British traditions are bad. A hearty full English breakfast is enough to warm anyone's soul.'

'You mentioned your cat before this all happened,' John said, pointing to Sherlock's head. 'You told me I reminded you of her. Would you mind telling me about her? If you're comfortable telling me that is.'

'Ash was something quite special,' Sherlock smiled fondly. 'She had a spectacular grey fur coat and a sweet personality, and she was a marvellous hunter!' He grinned from ear to ear. 'She also listened. I liked that about her. I'd tell her everything – is that strange? To talk to your animals like they're humans?'

'It's not strange at all,' John smiled. 'I talked with my family's hunting dog, Black Jack. He was a mix, Black Lab with German Shepherd, and he was a great dog. Not only was he great at fetching my father's bird kills, but he was also extremely gentle around me and my sister. Like he knew we weren't playthings. So I would talk to him, tell him about my day and the mean things Harry had done to me, and he would listen and wag his tail and lick my hands and face free of sticky candy or tears. If I'd had a particularly bad day I would curl up with him in his cage and sleep and he would let me, wouldn't move until I woke up. And even then he would stay by my side for the rest of the day.'

John paused and wiped at his eyes. 'He got sick around the time I turned twelve, was sluggish and struggled to breathe. My mum took him to the vet and found out he had a tumour growing between his heart and one of his lungs, but there was nothing they could do. It was too close to a major artery to risk surgery. My dad wanted to put him out of his misery but I wouldn't let him. I wanted to say goodbye first. So, I slept with him in his cage one last time, not really sleeping but more of talking to him. I told him everything that I loved about him, how much he would be missed, and that I would never forget him. He was the best damn dog my family ever had, and he still holds a special place in my heart.'

He glanced up at Sherlock, his eyes bright with tears. 'He was a great dog, and I'll never forget him. Because he listened, he didn't judge, didn't correct, and was a great keeper of secrets.' He caressed Sherlock's cheek with his thumb. 'I suppose you remind me of him,' he smiled lightly. 'How you protect me and care for me, always so gentle with me.'

'He sounds wonderful,' Sherlock hushed, leaning over and pecking John on the lips, wiping away John's tears with the back of his hand. 'I'm sorry that I never got to meet him, and I only hope that I leave such fond memories with you when I pass on–' He paused. 'No need to think about that as it won't happen for a while... not until I'm withered and grey, or god forbid bald!'

Smiling, he tried to lighten the conversation. 'Would you want a pet again?' Sherlock asked him curiously. 'I myself wouldn't mind one. I might be a cruel and heartless bastard to society but just between me and you...' He leaned closer to John and whispered, 'I have a major soft spot for our furry friends.

'A dog might not be a good idea however,' he mused. 'We both have busy lives and the flat along with London daily life is no place for a dog.'

'I don't want to think about life without you,' John sniffled. 'But a pet does sound like a good idea. Maybe a cat or a rabbit. And turtles aren't so bad either. Just promise not to run experiments on them, alright?' He sucked in a deep breath and wiped his eyes again.

'Now, tell me more about Ash. How old were you when you had her?' John asked, changing back to their original subject.

'A cat would probably be the most suitable of creatures. They are independent but affectionate at the same time,' Sherlock replied.

'Now let's see – I would have been eight years old when I got Ash as a kitten. She was beautiful even back then, so small John, and fragile. I thought I was going to break her.' He smiled at the memory of the bundle of fluff. 'She had to be put down when I was seventeen. She was getting on quite a bit and had multiple things wrong with her. It would have been cruel to keep her alive.' He took a shuddering breath. 'I missed her terribly so. Still do if I am being perfectly honest.'

He looked at John expectantly. 'So you really wouldn't mind getting a cat with me? I mean it's an undoubtedly big decision. It would settle us together for a long time.' He reached forwards and linked his fingers through John's. 'Not that I am complaining, and we shall be getting married soon too, but somehow it's the little domestic things like that that seem to make this whole thing between us so much more solid and real.'

'I would be honoured to get a cat with you, Sherlock,' John grinned widely. 'I never had a cat growing up. Just dogs, mainly used for hunting, and none of them were as affectionate as Black Jack.' He squeezed Sherlock's hand.

'Yes, the domesticity of all this is rather quaint. It feels right, especially with you. And while a pet is a big decision, so is our decision to get married. And I am looking forward to that very much.' He kissed Sherlock softly, not wanting to start anything in such a public place.

'One condition though about the cat,' he said, interrupting the kiss. 'We have to get him or her from a shelter. Those animals have likely been through hell and back but survived, and they deserve a second chance at a good life.'

'Naturally,' Sherlock agreed. 'I believe Ash was a rescue kitten. Mother adored her, I adored her, Mycroft pretended to not adore her but really did, and I think even my father loved her dearly – which is quite strange. I thought him not capable of such a thing as love, but I suppose he wasn't totally inhuman. There must have been one part of him that was less beastly than the rest.' He took a deep breath, shoving the memory of his father as far as it would possibly go as it only reminded him that the man that had caused all of his family such heartache was still out on the loose.

Emily picked that moment to deliver their food, wishing them good fortune on their journey. Her accent was quite heavy that day. What was so special about today that the Russians' accents seemed thicker? She winked at John and smiled, walking away briskly.

'Journey? What journey?' he whispered to himself. He shrugged and dove in to his English breakfast, savouring every bite.

'Perhaps she overheard us talking about marriage and she means our journey together,' Sherlock shrugged before beginning to wolf down his food greedily.

'Possible,' John said between a mouthful of sausage and egg. He swallowed. 'Slow down love. Your stomach isn't used to eating so much and I don't want you wretching over yourself or me.'

Sherlock scowled grumpily but slowed down his eating all the same. 'Hungry,' he grunted through small mouthfuls.

'I know you are love, but if you continue like that not only will you have a horrible stomach ache but you'll probably need to expel that quickly to relieve the pressure. And after a full meal I don't like dealing with human bodily fluids. I may be a doctor, but if there's someone wretching near me then I'll be wretching too.' John shuddered and shoved a forkful of food in his mouth to make himself shut up.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'You need to be like me, John. Stomach of steel.' He smirked, biting into a large piece of bacon.

'With your profession you'd need one,' John smirked. He shoved some hashbrowns in his mouth. 'But I only have problems with vomit. I'm fine with everything else. Gore and dead bodies don't phase me. I was pretty neutralised to that during my time as a medic in the war.'

Sherlock smiled sympathetically and stilled his eating for a moment. 'Can I ask you something? I don't mean to intrude, it's just, I've always wondered. Was it worth it? Becoming a soldier and a doctor? Was the saving people worth the death and the pain and the hardships?'

John gave Sherlock a small smile.

'There were days when it was worth it, yes. Days when everyone lived, the wounded were sparse, and we were able to relax before it started up again. But the days when it was bad, days when there were too many soldiers to help, not enough supplies, not enough blood, not enough time... Even those days made it worth it because I was doing what I had been wanting to do since I was eighteen. I was helping people, healing them so they could go back and do what they wanted to do: fight for Queen and Country.

'And while I saw a lot of good men die, friends, colleagues, the lot, it was still worth it. After I got shot and shipped home I felt like it hadn't been worth it. Because I was no longer doing what I wanted to do, I felt useless. But then I found you and I began helping people again. It wasn't exactly the same, but it filled the void. And with my job at the surgery I feel a little less helpless.'

He squeezed Sherlock's hand and smiled. 'So, yes. It was worth it.'

Sherlock gripped John's hand tightly. 'I can't imagine you, out there, in the midst of constant warfare.' His eyes clouded over. 'But then you are in a war right now, aren't you? With me and my life–' He exhaled and chewed on his food lightly.

'It's not so bad,' John said softly, picking at his food. 'It keeps me on my toes, that's for sure.'

'What if I don't want that life anymore? What if I want the flat, a kitten, to be married to you, and to be retired? Maybe we could go travelling together? We could go anywhere, do anything, and instead we are constantly in the line of danger. I don't like it,' Sherlock frowned. 'I don't like it one little bit.'

'It sounds rather mundane for you,' John smiled fondly. 'Settling down in a flat with your husband and cat, tending bees, travelling. It sounds wonderful.' He looked up at Sherlock and smiled.

'You do not understand. Normally the idea of married life and domestic things were always mundane and frankly a little ridiculous to me. Not with you though.' He gazed at John affectionately. 'With you I feel like I could accomplish anything and it wouldn't matter what it was, how domestic it was, or how boring I'd usually find it. I'd enjoy it because you were with me.'

'It's called "love," Sherlock,' John grinned. 'Everything you would normally find boring is suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world simply because the one you love is by your side.' He pulled Sherlock in for a chaste kiss. 'And maybe a holiday would do us some good. We could go somewhere warm. You could use a little sun.'

'I am a little on the pale side, aren't I?' Sherlock joked softly.

'Ghostly,' John smiled. 'A cat, a holiday, and marriage. How very domestic of you Mr Holmes.' He kissed Sherlock again before returning to his plate of food. 'Now eat so we can get clean clothes.'

'I can do domestic when I put my mind to it.' Sherlock gave John a goofy grin, plummeting his food down his throat once more. John rolled his eyes but allowed Sherlock to scarf down his food. He wasn't as hungry as Sherlock, so he just sat and watched him eat, sipping his water. Sherlock quickly finished off his meal and slid down his chair with a soft groan, hand over stomach.

'Stuffed,' he muttered. 'Probably won't be able to move for at least a week.'

'That may be a problem,' John smirked. 'Seeing as not only do you need to move to try on clothes, but you'll also need to be able to move when I ravish you later.'

'It'll make it rather troublesome to try on shirts if my stomach's inflated too,' he sighed and poked his belly. 'As for ravishing, you could always ravish me here, but then I think that would be the last free meal we have in here.'

'And it is rather a public place,' John mused. 'Wouldn't want to get arrested for indecent exposure now, would we?' He looked at Sherlock's protruding stomach. 'Your stomach should relax by the time we get to the store. It's not far from here. We could walk. Work off some of that food.'

'Yes, let's.' Sherlock stood to his feet, thanking Emily and her family for the wonderful breakfast as politely as Sherlock Holmes, the world's only consulting detective, knew how to, and grabbed hold of John's tiny hand in his far larger one. John waved at Emily as Sherlock dragged him from the restaurant. She waved back and smiled, clearing their table.

Once they were outside in the fresh air John stopped. He turned his face to the sun and breathed deeply. He glanced over to Sherlock and smiled, drawing him close. He just held him for a moment, hugging him, feeling him, before he let go, a smile on his lips.

'I just wanted to do that,' he explained to Sherlock's raised eyebrow. 'I can't remember being this happy before. And I am so glad it's you who makes me feel this way.'

'And I had dreamed of living alone and detached from the world for the rest of my life. Nothing could have prepared me for having you in my life or the happiness you bring me.' Sherlock tugged John into a brief but heartwarming hug. John melted into Sherlock's hug, grasping his shirt tightly, inhaling his scent. He hummed in content, not really wanting to move away from Sherlock's warmth.

'We have to move at some point, John,' Sherlock mumbled into John's hair, holding him close.

'I know,' John mumbled. 'Just... Just let me enjoy this for a while.'

Sherlock rubbed his hand on John's back in small, comforting circles. 'If you move now I promise to do all sorts of wonderful things to you tonight.'

'Oh, that promise implies all sorts of wonderful acts in my mind,' John grinned. He leaned back and licked his lips, wanting to kiss Sherlock but not. He didn't want to start something where they would have to get off in an alley.

'Ok, start walking,' he instructed, dropping his arms.

Sherlock began to quick march down the street. 'Yes, Captain,' he replied sarcastically.

John shook his head and followed behind, catching up to grasp Sherlock's hand.

'I don't know which I like more,' he mused. 'You calling me "sir" or me calling you "sir."' He glanced up at Sherlock and smirked, licking his lips again.

'I quite like both.' Sherlock's lips curled upwards into an impossibly big smile. 'The fight for dominance will be intriguing to say the least.'

'I look forward to it,' John purred, squeezing Sherlock's hand.

The journey went quickly after that with very little chatter but it wasn't needed. Both men were comforted that they were walking hand in hand happily for the first time in a long time. When they finally arrived at the supermarket Sherlock began dragging John inside, very much akin to a child dragging their mother into a sweet shop because they wanted candy.

'Easy Sherlock, slow down,' John laughed. 'What's the rush? It's only clothes.'

'I've never been clothes shopping before!' he exclaimed excitedly, still dragging John behind him.

'Really? Never?' John huffed a laugh. 'I find that hard to believe, but alright.'

'No, never,' Sherlock replied. 'I'm a spoilt brat, remember?'

'Ah, that's right,' John grinned. 'The nannies probably did all the shopping, yeah?' He paused. 'Then where do your suits come from now? Mycroft?'

'Yes. Well I wasn't going to complain when I myself couldn't be bothered,' Sherlock retorted with a mild laugh. John laughed again. They were soon in the men's department, surrounded by expensive looking suit pieces.

'So, where do you want to start?' John smiled. 'Should we split up and look for our own clothes or shop together?'

Sherlock looked most upset. He dragged John's smaller form into a tight embrace. 'Together.' He kissed John for a long time before pulling back. 'Don't leave me,' he whined. 'Please.'

_Separation anxiety,_ John noted as Sherlock kissed him. _Understandable after a major trauma._

'Of course. Together,' John nodded when Sherlock broke the kiss. 'Forgive me for even suggesting we split up.' He ran his hands gingerly up Sherlock's chest and fingered the shirt material lightly.

'We'll get you some new button downs, a blazer, some dress trousers, like what you usually wear. And then we'll get you some jeans and t-shirts to laze about the flat in.' He smiled up at his lover. 'And I'll need some more jumpers and jeans as well.'

'Sounds perfect,' Sherlock purred softly. 'I shall promise to pick out only the finest of clothes.'

'I wouldn't expect anything less,' John smiled, pulling him in for another quick kiss. 'Let's find you some shirts first as I know those will be the most difficult. You and your screaming buttons and all.'

'My buttons do not scream!' Sherlock gasped. 'They merely whimper and sob as they try to hold my shirts together.'

'The one time a button popped off your shirt? I'm pretty sure I heard screaming,' John smirked. 'Although I think it was a scream of freedom.'

'Hey!' Sherlock exclaimed with a heavy pout. 'My buttons don't want to leave me.'

'Oh? So they actually enjoy being stretched day after day, holding your shirts together, trying to "rein in your sexy"?' John laughed, using air quotes for emphasis.

'You sarcastic bastard,' Sherlock snarled playfully. 'My buttons love my sexiness if you really must know. They've told me so on many occasions.'

'And I love your sexiness too,' John purred, grabbing the collar of Sherlock's shirt and pulling him down for a deep kiss. Sherlock grunted in surprise but jerked back when he heard someone shout, 'Oi, get a room you poufs!'

Sherlock scowled and stared after the retreating youth. 'Idiot,' he muttered venomously, his entire body tensing in anger.

'Ignore him, Sherlock,' John said softly, running his hands up and down Sherlock's arms soothingly. 'He's an idiot. He's young and stupid and doesn't know what it's like to be in love. It's all fine.'

Sherlock relaxed. 'Sorry,' he sighed. 'Shouldn't allow scum like that to get to me.'

'If Anderson ever says anything again I give you permission to throttle him,' John smiled devilishly. 'Now, I've got my eye on a beautiful green shirt over there that I think would look gorgeous on you.'

'Anderson?' Sherlock questioned, turning to look at the shirt John was talking about. 'Yes, that rather is my colour. But then I can pretty much wear anything and make it look good.'

'He works forensics of some sort with the Yard. He's a massive twat and hates you because you're brilliant,' John explained.

Sherlock grinned. 'I can't blame him. I am rather brilliant.'

'Yes. Yes you are,' John smiled. He found Sherlock's size in the green shirt and began looking through the others.

'Let me know if you see anything you like. Trousers, shirts, whatever,' John said as he rifled through a stack of royal blue shirts.

'That's nice.' Sherlock stroked the blue material of the shirts John was looking at.

'I think this colour will look really nice against your skin,' John hummed. 'Not to mention it will bring out your eyes.' John held the shirt up by Sherlock's face and smiled. 'Gorgeous.'

'Do you think so?' he questioned, stepping forwards and wrapping his lips around John's Adam's apple tightly. The shirts fell to the floor as John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's shoulders.

'Yes,' he moaned, tilting his head back. 'You're gorgeous, love. Always have been and always will be.'

'Is that so?' he hummed against John's neck. 'Pick up the shirt, John. I'm going to need that to try on later.' His lips sucked harder on the hard lump in John's throat.

John was losing his balance. One hand gripped the back of Sherlock's neck, the other shot out to grasp something. He stumbled back a few steps before his hand grabbed the edge of the display table, propping himself up as he threw his head back further.

'Don't wanna move,' he gasped. 'Feels too good.'

Sherlock removed his mouth and took a step back. He let his blue orbs bore into John's eyes until he saw him shiver beneath his gaze. 'I promise more of where that came from once we're in the changing rooms.'

John practically vibrated where he stood. He moved, slowly, to pick up the shirts he'd dropped. Any faster would have been painful.

'Have you thought about buying a couple of button downs and dress trousers too? They may suit you,' Sherlock suggested, biting back a smirk.

'I've considered it yeah,' John groaned as he stood up, shirts in hand. 'And while I like wearing button downs under my jumpers sometimes I don't see myself as a dress trousers kind of guy. I like my blue jeans.'

'Really?' Sherlock questioned. 'I happen to think you'd look extremely sexy in them.'

'Well, I suppose there's no harm in me trying some on,' John smiled. 'Want to pick some out for me? Find me something sexy.' He winked.

'Oh love, I assure you, you don't need clothes to be sexy.' He snickered but picked out a shirt anyway. It was a deep indigo coloured button down, silk, and extremely tight fitting. John blushed at Sherlock's words. He gazed over the shirt Sherlock had picked out and swallowed.

'It looks a little tight,' he said. 'Do you think that will look good on me?' John didn't have the same physique he did during his army days, and while running around London on cases kept him fit he certainly wasn't trim anymore. He looked down at his softening belly and pouted.

'Yes, of course. I wouldn't have picked it out if I thought otherwise.' Sherlock frowned and studied John carefully to see why he was pouting.

'Oh I see,' he said in realisation. 'You're worried about the slight, erm... podge you've gained since the army.' Sherlock grinned and poked John's stomach with one long bony finger into the soft expanse of flesh.

John wasn't fat, far from it, but it was unmistakable that he was possessing an oval shaped tire beneath his shirt. 'This shirt ought to hide it,' he tried to reassure him. John flinched back from Sherlock's touch, wrapping his arms around his stomach.

'But if it's skin tight won't it cling to my podge instead of hiding it?' John questioned, still pouting. 'This is why I stick to jumpers,' he muttered.

Sherlock sighed. 'Stop being so oversensitive. You'll look great in it. I wouldn't have picked it out to humiliate you.' He leaned closer to John. 'Besides I like you the way you are. Podge and all.'

'Coming from someone who looks like he was carved from marble,' John smiled softly. 'Alright, I'll try it on. Just, try not to stick exclusively to the skin tight ones.'

'Of course,' Sherlock replied. 'I'll pick out a few jumpers too, and then maybe even a leather jacket.' He hummed, licking his lips. John hummed. He hadn't worn a leather jacket since he left for the army. God, that would bring back memories.

'Ok, sounds good,' he smiled. 'So, you shop for me and I shop for you?'

'Yes,' he nodded. 'I'll pick out clothes that will make you look so hot that everyone shall wish to jump you.'

'And then you leap in and claim me in front of everyone, right?' John smiled, skimming through the jeans. 'Assert your dominance, claim your territory, that type of thing?'

'Yes, exactly,' Sherlock purred, rifling through the jeans himself.

'I like the sound of that,' John purred himself. He pulled out a pair of jeans in Sherlock's size and draped them over his arm. He went to the dress trousers next.

'Just remember Sherlock, we aren't replacing our entire wardrobe,' he said. 'We're just getting enough clothes to hold us over until our stuff from the manor house is transferred over. Which I'm sure Mycroft will get someone to do once he's well enough.' He pulled a pair of trousers off the rack and quickly put them back once he noticed the price.

'That, and I don't have a lot of cash right now.'

Sherlock's brow knitted together. 'Money is no issue John. I'm a rich bastard. And very soon I shall be married to you, so let this rich bastard fiancé of yours spoil you rotten.'

John blushed and smiled. 'I've never had anyone spoil me before,' he said.

'Get used to it,' Sherlock smiled back at John.

'It's your fault if you turn me into a spoilt brat,' John smirked, grabbing the dress trousers he'd put back.

'I don't think that could ever happen, John,' Sherlock replied softly.

'What? Me being a spoilt brat?' John turned to Sherlock with a smile. His smile fell when he saw Sherlock's expression. 'Did I say something wrong?'

'No,' Sherlock ground out with a slight puff of his cheeks, moving past John to pick out a set of dress trousers for John, another button down (a slightly lighter shade of red than the one he was currently wearing), and a pair of dark black jeans.

'Sherlock? What did I say? Was it my joking about being a spoilt brat?' John followed Sherlock through the clothes aisles, feeling horrible and wanting to understand. 'I wasn't trying to make fun of you if that's what you think. I've just never had anyone purchase such nice things for me before. It's a nice feeling. What did I do, love? Tell me, please.'

Sherlock's face softened. 'I know you weren't, John. I'm not mad at you. I wish you'd try to relax. It's not your fault that my moods are practically bipolar.'

'Oh,' John sighed softly. 'I thought you were. But, I'm glad you're not. Sorry.' He looked at his shoes before glancing back up at Sherlock sheepishly.

'Stop acting as if you have anything to apologise for, John,' Sherlock sighed. 'I'm sorry I gave you that impression. Now can we please go get you some jumpers and that leather jacket that I promised you?'

John laughed lightly and nodded. 'Yeah, sorry. I don't know why I keep apologising. And yeah, jumpers and the jacket. Plus shoes.'

'Come on,' Sherlock gestured towards a rack of jumpers. 'Hmm, what about this one?' He held up a thick navy blue jumper.

John tilted his head and gazed upon the jumper. 'I like it,' he said. 'It looks like it'll keep me warm through the winter.'

'That's my job,' Sherlock remarked with a deep chuckle.

'When we're wrapped around each other in bed, yes,' John smirked. 'You're actually quite warm for someone so pale. And you make a very comfortable pillow for being all bones and angles.'

Sherlock's face fell and his eyes darkened slightly. 'I've been bonier. This is probably the fattest I've been in my lifetime.'

John's face fell too. 'I didn't mean– I wasn't– I'm sorry,' he stammered. 'And you aren't fat, Sherlock. You're slim and trim and quite fit. I've seen and felt those abs you hide under your shirts. You're gorgeous, you really are.' He moved to wrap his arms around his love in a tender hug, pulling him close. 'I'm sorry. Once again, I wasn't thinking, and I'm sorry.'

Sherlock sighed into John's shoulder. 'No, I am the one who should apologise. My moods really do seem to be all over the place. Then again, they've always been a little like that. I don't think of myself as fat but I just know that my body is capable of being far skinnier. I really don't want to go back there, to not eating, then overeating, and–' He blinked, pulled back and shook his head. 'You don't need to know about that. That's all in the past.'

John nodded and sighed, releasing Sherlock from the hug.

'Let's find another jumper and that leather jacket,' he said. 'Then we can try all this on.'

Sherlock nodded and started to seek out another jumper suitable for John. He smiled softly to himself as he found a gorgeous one. It was a golden colour and the wool was soft to the touch. He picked it up and folded it on his arm over the clothes he had already acquired.

Then there was the task of finding the leather jacket. It was a far harder task than imagined as he wanted one that suited John to a T. In the end he settled for a simple brown leather jacket with a hood lined with soft material to keep him warm.

'Is that it apart from shoes?' Sherlock asked John, who was currently gazing upon a hoodie. Sherlock's eyebrows shot up. 'Do you want me to wear that too?'

'Yeah, apart from shoes that's good,' John murmured as he looked at the hoodie. It wasn't any different from any of the other hoodies he'd seen in the store, but this one was a deep, rich purple that reminded John of Sherlock's purple button down. He blinked and looked up.

'Huh?' he asked, blinking up at Sherlock.

Sherlock smirked at how out of it John had been. 'I said do you want me to wear that?' he nodded towards the hoodie.

John turned back to the hoodie and nodded. 'Yeah, actually, I do,' he said. 'We should get some t-shirts to go with it though. I don't think a button down shirt and a hoodie would go so well together.'

'Okay,' Sherlock nodded his approval. 'I rather like it in fact. I've never worn a hoodie before.'

John didn't question that statement. Sherlock didn't seem the type to wear hoodies, especially not in his youth. John plucked the hoodie from the display and moved to the section where the t-shirts were. He rifled through them until he came up with three shirts.

A plain black one that John thought would look magnificent against Sherlock's broad chest and pale skin; an emerald green one that, while with the purple would look a little Joker-ish, would bring out the green in Sherlock's kaleidoscope eyes; and a yellow that had some sort of almost snake skin type pattern on it.

'Let's get to the changing room now,' he smiled. 'I can't wait to see these on you.'

'Nor I you in the clothes that I have picked for you,' Sherlock replied. In the end he had chosen two tightly fitting button downs, some dress trousers, two thick woolen jumpers, and some jeans. All of which he was certain would look marvelous on John.

John rushed them over to the fitting rooms, finding one that was large enough to fit them both so they could change without having to pop over to the other's room. John laid out his choices and gestured to them.

'Which would you like to try on first?' he asked.

'I want you to choose,' Sherlock retorted, placing his chosen clothes for John down and unbuttoning his shirt before letting it drop to the floor. He then undid his jeans and stepped out of them so he was standing in front of John in nothing but boxer shorts.

John felt his face flush as Sherlock stripped in front of him. _Calm yourself Watson_, he scolded himself. _It's nothing you haven't seen before. So why are you blushing like a schoolgirl?_

John swallowed down his arousal and contemplated his clothing choices. Which did he want to see Sherlock in first? He smiled as he picked up the hoodie, black tee, and blue jeans. He wanted to know what Sherlock looked like dressed down, like a normal person.

'Here. Since you've never worn a hoodie before might as well start with it,' he smiled.

Sherlock took the clothes, slipping into the blue jeans, and pulling the black t-shirt over his head. He stroked the hoodie with his fingertips for a second before shoving it on too. He looked on at himself in the mirror and frowned.

'I look so... normal,' he muttered, cocking his head he began grinning. 'I like it.'

John broke out in a wide grin. 'Normal seems to suit you,' he said. 'I love that colour on you.' He stroked the material of the hoodie. 'And these jeans make your arse look fantastic.' He squeezed Sherlock's bum and pressed himself close, the hoodie soft against his cheek. Sherlock groaned and pushed himself against John.

'Of course I have yet to put them to certain tests.' He slowly and subtly began moving himself against John. 'Can they take my full size, for example?' He chuckled as John turned a fiery shade of red.

'We can test that now,' John blushed, running his hands down Sherlock's thighs. He slid them back up and over Sherlock's crotch and palmed him through the jeans. 'How are they faring so far?'

Sherlock whimpered. 'Very good indeed but I haven't finished my research.' He pushed John down to his knees. 'Mouth me through my jeans,' he ordered.

'Yes sir,' John whispered. He grabbed the back of Sherlock's thighs before clamping his mouth around Sherlock's clothed erection, pressing his tongue along the length of it and suckling softly. Sherlock grasped John's hair tightly and practically collapsed, trembling under the influence of his lover's tongue.

'God, don't stop,' he grit out, moving his clothed erection in and out of John's greedy mouth.

'Don't you dare cum in these clothes,' John growled. 'I don't want to have to explain to the cashier why they're all sticky and wet.' He continued to mouth at Sherlock's erection however, his hands clenching his thighs tightly.

Sherlock's eyes widened. He was already so close to a release. He pushed John albeit a bit rougher than he needed to. 'Sorry,' he gasped. 'Just–' He blew out his cheeks. 'That was a close one.'

John fell back on his bum and laughed. The situation reminded him of their little torturous experiment at the Yard. He looked up at Sherlock who was red faced and panting.

'So do the jeans pass the size test then?' he smirked.

Sherlock hummed, taking huge breaths. 'Uh– er–' he stuttered. 'I think so, yes.'

'I've rendered you incoherent,' John smiled. 'That's a first.' He rose up on his knees and shuffled back to Sherlock.

'If you like, I can still bring you to release. I'll just pull you out of these jeans and your pants and you can cum down my throat.' He ran his hands up Sherlock's thighs, looking up at him with hooded eyes.

Sherlock thought about it for a moment but in the end he shook his head. 'Save your stamina for later. You'll need it.'

John grinned and stood up, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's shoulders. He kissed him briefly and pulled away.

'Might as well give you some time to recover,' he said, pulling his jumper and jeans off. 'I'll try something on now. You choose.'

Sherlock picked up the deep indigo silk button down and the dress trousers. 'Trust me,' he said with a smile, trying to wipe off the slightly terrified expression on John's face.

John blinked a few times before he sighed, reluctantly taking the trousers from Sherlock. He pulled them on, surprised that they fit so well. He stared the shirt down for a moment though. He was still skeptical about how tight it looked, but he snatched it from Sherlock's grasp with a resonating sigh. He unbuttoned it and pushed his arms through the sleeves, settling it on his shoulders before buttoning it up. Surprisingly, it didn't feel all that snug. He huffed out a deep breath and glanced over to Sherlock.

'How do I look?' he asked.

'Gorgeous, and adorably annoyed,' Sherlock stated, his voice swimming with humour. He took a step forwards and ran his fingers down the shirt.

John bit back a laugh. 'Gorgeous? The adorably annoyed I believe; even _I_ think I look adorable when I'm annoyed. But gorgeous? No.' He shook his head and looked down at Sherlock's fingers on the shirt. It was a nice colour, and it didn't fit as tight as he imagined it would. But he still had his doubts. And Sherlock was blocking his view of the mirror, not that he was complaining. He would much rather gaze upon his hoodie-wearing sweetheart than himself any day.

Sherlock tutted. 'You really believe that, don't you? That you're not gorgeous?' He sighed and placed both of his hands on John's shoulders, forcing him to turn and face the mirror. He moved one hand to cup his lover's chin, forcing him to stare at his reflection, and the other gently found a place on his stomach. 'I wish you could see what I can. Please just try, John.'

John stared at his reflection but he didn't see the gorgeous man Sherlock saw. He was handsome in the shirt and trousers sure. But he didn't see gorgeous. He scowled as he glanced down at Sherlock's hand on his stomach. It didn't look bad in the shirt, in fact it looked better than he thought it would. He glanced back up and locked eyes with Sherlock in the mirror.

'I wish I could see the gorgeous man you see,' he said morosely. 'I can see handsome, but not gorgeous.'

Sherlock growled. 'Stop it. You are gorgeous. I am merely observing and stating what I can see.' He placed a kiss in John's hair. 'What would it take for you to believe me?'

'I think... I think I have to be able to feel it. I have to feel gorgeous in order to see myself that way.' John shrugged and looked at the shirt again. It really was beautiful. 'I do really like the shirt and trousers though. The shirt is actually quite beautiful.'

'It's not the shirt that is beautiful, it's you, the man who is wearing it.' Sherlock blew a kiss against John's ear. 'Why don't you feel gorgeous? Shall I make you feel like the most gorgeous being in the world? Because believe me when I say I'll make love to you right here and now to try and enforce my opinion.'

John's pupils dilated and he felt his pulse quicken. His mind was flooded with images of he and Sherlock entwined on the bench in the room. Him laying spread eagle as Sherlock entered him, him riding Sherlock as Sherlock rocked into him, him being pressed against the mirror as Sherlock fucked him roughly. He swallowed around the lump of arousal in his throat and adjusted himself in the trousers.

'While I like the idea of you doing that to make me feel gorgeous, I don't like the idea of being caught and carted off to jail.' John smiled up at Sherlock. 'I appreciate the offer though.' He tilted his head up and placed a kiss on the underside of Sherlock's jaw.

'Ah,' Sherlock purred. 'I wouldn't worry about that.' He picked up his original jeans that he'd been wearing when they'd come in and rifled through his pockets, pulling out a small metal object. 'Do you see this? This is a device I designed when I was merely eight years old. And do you know what this device does?' Sherlock grinned, bouncing up and down in excitement. 'It soundproofs rooms,' he smiled smugly. 'I anticipated this moment, thought that maybe a device like this could be useful. It works. I used it a numerous amount of times as a child to simply ignore Mycroft.'

John's pupils dilated further. He looked at the object in Sherlock's palm. It was no bigger than a pen and no wider than one of his fingers.

'How does it work?' he asked in a breathless gasp.

'It's quite simple.' Sherlock fingered the device with his thumb, sliding his finger over a tiny button that would be practically invisible to anyone who didn't know it was there. Then suddenly both he and John were surrounded by an invisible bubble of protectiveness, blocking everything from the outside world out, and making every little sound within the bubble loud, sharp and clear.

'It's a transmitter, a null field. Whilst we're in here with this device no one will hear us and we will not be bothered by anyone either.' He smiled, turning John towards him.

'Now isn't the time for a science lesson, John. Now is your time, the time I make you feel gorgeous.'

John stared around the nearly invisible bubble of protection, mesmerised that it was even possible to create something like that. But of course his Sherlock would be the one to invent it. He looked up at Sherlock, so normal looking yet still drop dead gorgeous in his hoodie and jeans. It wasn't fair, but he didn't want to dwell on that.

His eyes locked with Sherlock's and he felt his pulse quicken in his chest. He swallowed and nodded slowly. 'Make me feel gorgeous, Sherlock. Please.'


	19. Dressing Room Romp

This is a bit of a shorter chapter, and it's all mostly porn. There's an argument and some angst at the end, so be prepared for that.

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock

Me: John

Gratuitous porn ahead. Ye have been warned.

* * *

Chapter 19 – Dressing Room Romp

Sherlock swept his eyes over John's entire form, gazing at him through his eyelashes with a look of utmost tenderness. His fingers barely brushed against John's shirt buttons as he slid the silk button down off of his shoulders. His gentle fingers glided down to John's trousers and gently pulled at them until John was able to step out of them. Then as delicately as he could he removed his boxer shorts. He placed the clothes in one corner of the room before turning back to his lover.

'Lie down, John,' Sherlock ushered softly. John felt his blush creep down his neck and onto his chest as Sherlock undressed him. He moved over to the bench in the corner of the room and slowly laid down on it, shivering as the coolness of it met his hot skin. He watched Sherlock attentively, waiting in anticipation of what was to come. Sherlock stripped himself of his own clothes before clambering onto John, enveloping him in his arms.

'I want you to tell me what you don't find gorgeous about yourself.' He nuzzled John's neck. 'Because I swear I'm going to make you change your mind.' John whimpered and held Sherlock to him.

'My scar, first and foremost,' he answered. 'While I'm proud I got it serving my country a lot of the women I've been with were disgusted by it. A select few were turned on because they thought it made me a badass.' He laughed and ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair.

'My gut too,' he said softly. 'I don't have the physique I had in the army anymore. I had very prominent abs and would walk around shirtless, showing them off on the days the casualties were sparse. But now, I can't even tell where my abs used to be.' He poked his stomach and sighed. 'Those are the two main ones,' he sighed softly. 'Do you want everything or just my main issues?'

Sherlock hummed, caressing John's face with his fingers, soaking in everything that John had told him for later use. 'Tell me everything, every little thing that you hate about yourself. I need to know.'

'It's a pretty long list,' John sighed.

'I hate my ears because they stick out so far. I hate my nose because it's rather large on my face. I hate the bags under my eyes as they make me look over forty when I'm only thirty six. I hate my thin lips. I hate my fat, stubby, little fingers. I hate that I've gained weight even though I get enough exercise chasing criminals across London with you. I hate that my hair is turning grey so early and it makes me feel old and ancient because you're still in your youth and vitality and I just–' He sucked in a deep breath. 'I feel inadequate. Like I don't deserve you.'

Sherlock snarled aggressively as the words tumbled from John's mouth to his ear like bitter acid. He moved his lips to the army doctor's shoulder.

'You deserve me, John. I hate that you think so lowly of yourself. I swear I'm going to change your mind. Let's start with your scar,' he whispered. 'It is not repulsive, nor do I think you're a complete badass. I think you're brave, and I think that blemish on your skin is what makes you perfect. It shows that you are a far stronger man than me, that you fought, that you got hurt but carried on, and this,' Sherlock pressed his lips tightly to the scar, 'is the result. It's a part of you, your soul, who you are, and I love it.'

John moaned and held Sherlock still, letting him mouth at his scar. He loved it when Sherlock worshipped his body, he didn't feel so... abnormal, imperfect, broken. The list went on and on. He had yet to feel gorgeous, but they had only just begun.

He arched into Sherlock's touch and moaned. 'Keep going Sherlock. Make me feel gorgeous.'

Sherlock moved to John's right ear. 'As for your ears, John. They are beautiful because I know they are used to listen to me. Nobody listens to me, but you do. I know you do and that's why I love them.' He swirled his tongue around the ear and sucked it into his mouth. John clutched tightly to Sherlock's shoulders, pulling him close.

'Yes Sherlock, yes. More. Tell me more.'

'Your nose makes you unique.' Sherlock placed a sloppy kiss on John's nose. 'Your graying hair makes you look distinguished.' He ran a hand through the grey mop. 'These bags can be sorted too. You just need to rest; something I don't let you have enough of.' His fingertips brushed the purple bags shadowing John's eyes. 'Your lips are carved perfectly and they are all mine.' Sherlock devoured said lips hungrily.

John clutched Sherlock's head tightly, nipping and sucking and licking his lips like he needed them to survive. He wrapped a leg around one of Sherlock's and pulled him close, a nonverbal cue telling him to continue. Sherlock grabbed one of John's hands and pulled back, gasping for air like a fish out of water.

'These fingers of yours are highly talented. I don't think they get nearly enough credit.' He opened his mouth and sucked in all five digits, slurping on them greedily. John moaned obscenely and watched Sherlock suck on his fingers, panting harshly. His cock twitched at the sight and his hips shifted, wanting more contact. He rocked against Sherlock, encouraging him to continue. Sherlock sucked on John's fingers for a long while, swirling his tongue over them, and rocking slowly but persistently against him. He pulled back with a loud squelching sound and moved down John's body.

'Now for this gut of yours,' he tutted, leaning in close and opening his mouth wide, massaging the slightly flabby piece of flesh with his lips. As the flesh moved in his mouth John was making strange noises making the act almost erotic even. John moaned and whimpered as Sherlock mouthed at his fleshy stomach. He gasped and arched off the bench as Sherlock dipped his tongue into his belly button.

'Oh, Jesus fucking Christ,' he moaned. 'God Sherlock, don't stop. Don't ever stop.'

Sherlock grunted, lapping his tongue in John's belly button like there was no tomorrow. He moved his hands to the flesh too, kneading at it frantically.

'Gah fuck!' John swore, panting harshly. 'I want you, Sherlock. I want you so bad. But... I have an idea.' He groaned when Sherlock's tongue started practically fucking his navel, losing his train of thought.

'Continue,' Sherlock mumbled against John's stomach.

'I... I have an idea,' John repeated dumbly. 'I want... I want to utilise the mirror. Let me watch you make love to me, make me feel gorgeous. I want you to take me from behind like you did in the shower. I want to watch us, I want to watch you, and I want you to watch me.'

Sherlock hummed, licking John's fleshy belly one last time. 'What a wonderful idea. I'll have to prepare you first however.' He moved his tongue downwards and poked John's entrance with it. John braced his feet against the edge of the bench and whimpered.

'Oh god, hurry,' he panted. 'I want you now. God, please.'

Sherlock pushed his tongue further, entering John for one blissful moment. He swooped in, replacing tongue with long fingers, pushing each digit into John until he was practically fucking his hand. John cried out and arched almost completely off the bench. He was chanting 'god yes, please' over and over, rocking back on Sherlock's hand, fucking himself on his fingers.

'I think you're ready,' Sherlock growled darkly, pulling his fingers from John.

'God Sherlock yes,' John groaned, shivering at how empty he felt. 'Help me up.' He held out his hands for Sherlock to grasp. Sherlock hauled John to his feet, pushing him up against the mirror. He looked on at himself and his lover. What he saw was a most beautiful sight.

'I'm going to enter you now,' he whispered, being extra gentle in order to try and make up for how rough he'd been when doing this in the hospital shower.

John watched Sherlock's face as he entered him. The vein in his neck popped out, his brow creased, his mouth popped open as he seated himself fully in his arse. Sherlock was a beautiful sight and John moaned obscenely as his love entered him almost painstakingly slow. John held onto Sherlock's hip, his nails digging into his flesh to still him as he adjusted to the full feeling.

Sherlock groaned, rocking in and out of John slowly. He ran his tongue over one of the army doctor's ears, sucking at it affectionately, and kept a hand firmly on John's stomach, his fingers creeping closer to his erection.

John watched Sherlock make love to him. It was highly erotic, being able to watch himself. He arched into Sherlock's mouth, pressing his ear closer. His eyes travelled lower as Sherlock's hand did, watching him caress his stomach, his erection bobbing and straining as he awaited Sherlock's cool fingers. Sherlock wrapped his cool fingers around John's hot erection. He sucked more insistently on the ear of his partner.

He pulled himself nearly all the way out before slamming full force into John, causing a small cry to fall from his mouth despite it being clamped around John's ear. But John, he almost collapsed with the force. John's knees buckled from the force of Sherlock's thrust and the feeling of his hand around his cock. If Sherlock's free arm hadn't wrapped around his waist he might have fallen to the floor.

'God yes!' John panted, struggling to get his footing back. 'Do that again.'

Sherlock pulled himself nearly out again before slamming into John time and time again. He panted, red faced from the effort of keeping them both up. John's breath fogged the glass of the mirror as his panting became harsher. He slid down the mirror slightly as Sherlock thrust into him hard and fast. He spread his legs wider as his torso slid down, having to stand on tiptoe to keep his arse level with Sherlock's cock.

'That's it Sherlock, yes!' he cried, pushing back as Sherlock thrust forward, letting his prick delve deeper. 'I'm feeling pretty fucking gorgeous right about now. Now fuck me like you mean it. My arse can take it. Come on! Make me cum all over this mirror. Come on love. Come on!' He began meeting Sherlock thrust for thrust, fucking his hand in time to the slapping of their hips, pushing himself closer to the edge.

Sherlock's thrusts became painfully fast and hard and despite the clear pleasure it was causing John it was also visibly paining him too. It would seem he would be carrying him from the changing room at this rate. He twisted his hand around John's erection causing a cry to rip from his throat.

John tensed and cried out, his head tilting all the way back onto Sherlock's shoulder. His back arched into a near perfect curve and the small change in position allowed Sherlock's cock to hit his prostate repeatedly.

'Oh fuck! Sherlock, I'm cumming! I'm cumming!' he cried, pumping into Sherlock's hand twice before cumming long and hard on the mirror, his cum sliding down and pooling on the floor.

Sherlock kept on thrusting in and out until John's body relaxed. He then slid out and pulled John into his arms, placing his worn out body on the bench to recover. John panted into Sherlock's chest, gathering his wits about him as he calmed his breathing and heart rate.

'I feel pretty fucking gorgeous right now,' he smiled goofily into Sherlock's chest. 'Thank you love. Thank you.' He placed small kisses along Sherlock's heaving chest, working his way up his neck when he felt something along his thigh. He looked down to notice Sherlock's cock was still erect and red.

'Sherlock, love, you didn't cum,' he observed, looking up into his face. 'Do you want some help?'

Sherlock shook his head. 'It was about you, John. I accomplished making you see yourself as gorgeous and that's good. This isn't about my own pleasure. Trust me on this.'

'It looks painful,' John remarked. 'And while you fucking me makes me feel gorgeous, do you know what else does?' He wiggled his eyebrows and slid down Sherlock's body, landing on his knees and spreading Sherlock's.

'Giving you head,' he answered before Sherlock could guess. He grasped the base of Sherlock's cock in his hand and squeezed, licking a thick wet stripe from base to tip. 'So please, let me do this.' He engulfed Sherlock's prick before he could protest, swirling his tongue around the head before hollowing his cheeks and sucking loudly.

Sherlock inhaled sharply. 'Idiot,' he grunted, thrusting himself into John's mouth. 'I said–' His head flung back. 'Oh never mind,' he muttered, giving in to the ministrations of the talented tongue working on him. John purred in triumph, sucking Sherlock down his throat and swallowing. He rose up and bobbed his head a few times, sucking tightly on Sherlock's head before plunging back down. He squeezed Sherlock's balls with one hand while the other swirled around his entrance, adding that extra bit of sensation to send him over the edge.

Sherlock howled as he came hot and furiously down John's throat after his denied release. 'John!' he yelped and collapsed fully against the bench, turning over slightly to ease the pressure on his shoulders, eyes closing as he began to feel sleepy after exerting himself through both sexual acts. John swallowed all Sherlock gave, choking on it a bit as he came so hard and fast. He released Sherlock's cock with a loud pop and it fell against his abdomen with a wet slap. John gasped for air and licked his lips, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

'I may be an idiot, but I'm a gorgeous idiot,' John grinned cheekily.

Sherlock hummed sleepily. 'So you _do_ see what I see. Good.' He nuzzled his nose into John's chest and groaned because he knew that he'd have to get up at some point.

'I do now, yes,' John sighed, nuzzling Sherlock's neck. He felt Sherlock relax under him, his breathing becoming slow and deep.

'Sherlock, love, I'm sorry but you can't sleep right now,' he said softly. He sat up and shook Sherlock's shoulder. 'I don't think we need to try on anymore clothes. Let's get dressed, grab your soundproofer thing, and get some shoes. Then we can go home and sleep if you want. I can always have Tesco's deliver.'

'One more minute,' Sherlock huffed, burying his face into the crevice of John's neck, letting out a small snore, mouth opening agape.

John smiled and let Sherlock rest. Lord knows the man needed it. Although he'd slept more in the past week than John had seen him sleep in the year he'd known him. And he was eating better too. Maybe John was finally influencing him, maybe he finally realised that he needed to take care of himself. John mentally patted himself on the back and lay still, letting Sherlock relax beneath him.

'You're snuggly,' Sherlock smiled softly against the bench, his breath tickling John's hair. 'Like a teddy bear.'

'So I'm a kitty and a teddy?' John smirked, his hand moving to draw circles on Sherlock's shoulder. 'They are pretty cuddly and adorable, much like me.' John hummed and started drawing Gallifreyan circles, telling Sherlock what he was feeling.

_Gorgeous. I love you. Get up. Shoes. Flat. Sleep.  
_  
'No,' Sherlock whined. 'I don't want to get up. Tired. Besides I doubt your ability to walk. I'll have to carry you and I need my strength for that.'

'Then you can lay still and I'll dress you,' John sighed, wriggling off him. He stood up on shaky legs and stretched, his arse protesting slightly. He shuffled over to his original clothes, strewn about on the floor. He slipped on his pants easy enough. His jeans were another story. He nearly lost his balance twice before he managed to pull one leg through, the other following with less difficulty. His jumper was easy enough though.

He picked Sherlock's clothes up off the floor and sat them on the floor by the bench. He dropped to his knees by Sherlock's feet because his legs were protesting from standing. He pulled Sherlock's pants on, sliding them past his hips to sit just above his bum. His jeans soon followed but he didn't put his shirt on just yet.

He stared at Sherlock's bare back as he lay on his stomach, his eyes roaming over the scars that covered it, breaking the illusion that Sherlock's skin was perfect and blemish free. Some still looked quite painful despite their age. Others were so light you could barely tell they were there unless you looked at them in a certain light. Then there were the ones that formed patterns, like they were made with a sickening purpose, crossed over one another, making a brutal statement. He saw the word 'freak' carved into Sherlock's trapezius muscle in the middle of his back. As if he needed another reason to hate the word. Sherlock's father had branded him with it, and it probably killed him inside every time Sally called him that.

A lone tear escaped down John's cheek before he managed to swallow down his emotions. He wiped it away and sat on his haunches, patiently waiting for Sherlock to gather his strength. And he wasn't going to talk about it because he knew it was still painful for Sherlock. He wasn't going to ask, he wasn't going to ask, he wasn't going to ask.

Sherlock's eyes snapped open. He stared at John who was staring at him in return, or rather he was staring at his back. He turned and bolted upright and scowled at John, grabbing his shirt and placing it on his shoulders to hide his back.

'Don't,' he muttered. 'Just don't.'

John swallowed and hung his head, blinking back tears. He didn't risk speaking, knowing his voice would break, but he knew he should say something before Sherlock thought John was disgusted by the marks.

He took in a shaky breath and said, 'I'm sorry. Sorry, for invading your privacy like that. I know you don't want to talk about it, so I won't press you. I'm sorry. I... I won't do it again.'

It's fine,' Sherlock grit out, buttoning up his shirt, getting to his feet and hanging the clothes over his arm. 'Let's go, John.'

John stood up on shaky legs and grabbed Sherlock's silencer pen from the floor. He handed it to him and shoved his hands in his pockets, afraid to look Sherlock in the eye. He could feel the anger radiating from him in waves and he knew if he looked up he would burst into tears. And he really didn't want to cry in public.

'Thanks,' Sherlock sighed in annoyance before storming from the changing room, his mood dark and brooding. John followed behind, his feet shuffling along the floor. He felt like a massive idiot. What did he think he was doing, examining Sherlock's back like that? He hit himself on the side of the head, hard, the noise sounding almost hollow.

'Hurry up!' Sherlock tossed the cold remark over his shoulder to the hobbling John.

John couldn't stop the choked sob from escaping that time. He buried his face in his hands and stopping walking, trying and failing to rein in his emotions. He was having an emotional breakdown in the middle of a fucking clothing store. He felt like such an idiot. And it only added to the embarrassment of staring at Sherlock's back, which in turn made him sob harder. Sherlock froze at the sound of the sobbing and sighed, mentally scolding himself for being so cold. He turned and walked over to the broken man that he had so heartlessly pushed over the edge. Not really knowing how to offer comfort he simply patted his shoulder gently.

'I'm such a fucking idiot!' John sobbed, his voice muffled from behind his hands. He was wobbling where he stood, his legs still sore from his fucking. He leaned into Sherlock on instinct, his face still buried in his hands as he leant on Sherlock's chest.

'I believe you're mistaking yourself for me,' Sherlock tried to joke but John only sobbed harder.

John shook his head and continued to sob. His entire body was shaking by now and he was dangerously close to falling to the floor in a heap. He couldn't speak anymore, the large lump in his throat wouldn't allow that. So he leaned against Sherlock in the hope he would calm down soon.

'Whoa!' Sherlock cried out as John's legs finally gave way. 'Shh John. It's ok,' he hushed, tugging an arm around the crying man.

'No it's not! It's not ok!' John cried. 'I overstepped your boundaries and I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. And I just feel so stupid!' He hit a fist to the side of his head again, hard enough the force from the hit made his head bounce against Sherlock's chest. 'And now I'm crying in public and making an embarrassment of the both of us and–' He sucked in a deep breath before he buried his face in his hands again.

'I'm not angry, John. Ashamed, yes. Angry, no.' Sherlock sighed heavily. 'You should try to get up. People are starting to stare at you.'

'Then let them fucking stare!' John cried. 'What do I care if people stare at me? I'm just a stranger to them. They don't care about me! They just want to know why a grown ass man is fucking sobbing in a fucking clothing store and why a gorgeous Greek god is hunched over him.' John curled in on himself and sobbed into his knees.

'Let them fucking stare,' he grumbled. 'I don't care.' Sherlock flinched at John's words. He dropped all of the clothes in a neat pile by his feet and crouched down to his level.

'You misunderstand me. I did not mean that I am ashamed of you. I meant that I am ashamed of myself. My scars are disgusting and I'm not used to people looking upon them. I reacted badly to you doing so and I'm sorry.'

He took a deep breath and continued, squeezing John's scrunched up form in his arms. 'As for the people looking at us, I don't care about them because of me but because of you. They are judging you and as you said they don't know you and have no right to. It's making me extremely angry.' He clutched John tighter to emphasise his words. 'Please get up. We'll go home and we'll watch _Doctor Who._ I'm not certain who The Doctor currently is played by. My memories are still a little muddled. However it will be fun all the same.'

He began to write Gallifreyan on John's back. It would seem that it had become an almost secret code between them.

_Sorry. Stop the tears. Dear. Forgive me. Get up. I am the one who is an abomination.  
_  
Of course the latter one was the most complicated and he doubted John understood it, but it was the truest, and the reason why he didn't like anyone staring at his back. He was an abomination. His fingers came to a sad stop.

'Please get up,' he said softly.

John sucked in a harsh breath and shuddered. Sherlock had a point, although he didn't agree that Sherlock's scars were disgusting. He wouldn't call them all the wonderful words that Sherlock had called his not moments before because not only would Sherlock not believe him but they both knew the words would be lies.

He listened to the Gallifreyan words Sherlock was drawing on his back. He understood everything as he wrote, smiling slightly at the intimacy of it all. The last one tripped him up, however. He was able to make out 'I am the one who is' but the rest was lost. He shuddered again and lifted his tearstained face to look up at Sherlock. He saw the sadness in his eyes, how long he looked in the face, and felt guilty for making such a public scene.

'I'm sorry,' he croaked in a hoarse whisper. He wiped his tears away with the back of his hand. 'I'm sorry. Hel– Help me up?' Sherlock swooped the clothes over his shoulder before gently guiding John to his feet, wrapping a strong arm around him to stabilise him.

'It's okay.' He placed a kiss on the top of John's head. 'Let's get some shoes then head home, yeah?'

John nodded and shuffled along beside Sherlock. Once they made it to the shoes he sat on one of the little benches and closed his eyes. He needed to calm down first before he looked for new shoes.

Sherlock knelt besides John, clasping his hands tightly. 'Open those beautiful eyes of yours,' he ordered gently. John clenched them shut tighter, in every way the defiant child.

'John,' Sherlock scolded. 'Are you really going to be like this after we've just been through such a beautiful act?'

'I could ask you the same thing,' John bit back, his eyes popping open to scowl at his beloved.

'John, I'm tired. My past weighs on me heavily. I dislike it when either myself or others focus on it. It upset me and I reacted the only way I knew how to.' Sherlock stood to his feet. 'What's your excuse? That I gave you the brief cold shoulder?'

'No. That you made me feel gorgeous and now I feel like shit,' John spat, glaring up at Sherlock. 'I realise that you would rather have your past stay in the past, but it can't. It's a part of who you are whether you like it or not. All your experiences are what make you who you are. And I never bring up your past on purpose because I know how much you dislike reliving it. But sometimes I can't fight my basic human curiosity and I have to ask. And I'm sorry.'

'No,' Sherlock growled. 'I am the only one who should have the power to choose whether those memories resurface! They're my memories, John. Mine to do what I wish with. They have very little to do with you.' He narrowed his eyes.

'You're lucky that I somehow let you into my life but that doesn't mean you hold any power over me. I suggest that you bite down that human curiosity of yours. If I feel the need to open up old memories with you I will but right now I just want a cold shower and a bloody cigarette!' He tossed the clothes at John and dropped his credit card onto his lap too.

'I'm going back to the flat. I'll meet you there. Hopefully both of our tempers will have cooled.'

And with that he stalked away, cold, hard, and confused as to how things had escalated from making love to a bitter fight.

* * *

So sorry about the angst, but things get better next chapter. Since this one was so short I may get out after the Forth of July or just post the chapter from home using my mom's dinky internet card. Yeah. I'll do that. I'll either post it on the fourth or the fifth, so keep a look out for that. See you soon, and Happy Red Pants Monday! I'm actually wearing red pants (trousers) in celebration today ;) I'm such a dork.


	20. No Regrets

Happy Fourth of July my fellow Americans! Have some Johnlock angst and smut to celebrate! There shall be a different sort of fireworks tonight ;)

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock

Me: John

_Warnings for this chapter: smoking, drinking, angst, porn, some bloodplay, and fainting due to bloodloss (don't worry, the fainter is going to be fine)_

* * *

Chapter 20 – No Regrets

John dropped his head in his hands and fought back tears. Why did he have to fuck up everything? Every fight they'd had he had been the one to initiate. The one about the triple homicide (that Sherlock probably didn't remember), the one in the hospital where Sherlock had just wanted to talk about his brother's suicidal tendencies, and now this one about opening Sherlock's past and him behaving like a fucking child.

Why did he have to be such an idiot? He pressed the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and took in deep breaths. He wasn't going to buy shoes anymore. In fact, he was going to buy the bloody clothes and head over to Tesco's. If Sherlock needed time to cool off then he was going to give him time. And he needed the time to gather his thoughts as well.

He stood up on wobbly knees, clutching the clothes to his chest, and made his way over to the registers. He paid for the clothes, not bothering to look at the price, and walked out. He walked to Tesco's, conveniently placed within walking distance of 221B and the clothing store. There he put the bags of clothes in a shopping cart and walking aimlessly around the store. When he had been walking for nearly an hour he decided to at least get some milk and nibbles. He ended up buying enough to make a stir fry and, much to his chagrin, a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

He hadn't smoked in years. Well before his army days. He quit before he left for basic training, wanting to have the lung capacity for the endurance training. But now, now he didn't need to run. He didn't need his health. And Sherlock could run just fine with his occasional smoking habit. So, for the first time in almost twenty years, he lit a cigarette. By the time he'd gotten back to the flat he'd had six and felt sick to his stomach.

He stood on the doorstep to 221, contemplating if he'd given Sherlock enough time to recover. He himself had barely done any thinking, but then again maybe that would be a good thing. He tended to over think in situations like this, and that always ended badly. Sherlock would pout on the sofa, John would storm from the flat. The silence and war in both of their minds drove them up the wall. The smiley face was evidence of Sherlock's; the smelling of beer and cheap perfume was John's.

He finally walked up the steps to their flat and didn't even pay attention to Sherlock, pouting on the sofa as usual. He put the groceries away, organising the body parts so they wouldn't spoil the food or the milk. He tossed the clothes in the hallway, planning on washing them later as well as his own clothes that smelled like smoke. He made himself a cup of tea, not bothering to make Sherlock any. He wouldn't drink it anyway. When he had steeped his tea he collapsed in his chair, sipping it while stealing glances at Sherlock, curled up on the sofa.

Sherlock had been thinking nonstop since he had entered the flat. He'd taken a freezing cold shower alone and had slipped into a pair of tired and worn pyjamas. All the while his mind had been focused solely on both his physical scars and his mental scars.

Every wound inflicted on him in his childhood spilled out behind his eyelids like a thick and misty poison. Every harsh word, every punch, every scratch, every cut, and slice; they all haunted him. His brand name 'freak' must have wriggled to the surface of his worries over a million times.

Perhaps that's all he was to the world, all he had ever been. An outsider, a freak, a person so different and wrong, an abomination, a useless excuse of human life.

Human.

He didn't feel human. He felt cold, robotic, a gigantic intellect trapped within a piece of meat.

And now his mind, the only thing he had ever truly liked about himself, was decomposing. There were dark spots, memories blotted out, ones that felt important but were just out of reach. He knew John was the focus of almost all of them. John Watson was an enigma.

He was so familiar, yet so strange, and he turned something on in Sherlock that he hadn't even been aware was present. He wasn't sure what he felt for him. He knew that he was a beautiful being, inside and out. He knew that he was friendly and made him feel safe, and loved. Safe and loved... hmmm... two things he had never truly experienced before. He supposed from the moment he had woken up in the hospital he had experimented to see how deep his and John's relationship went. John made him feel good and in return Sherlock tried to make John feel good. He loved the emotions John stirred within him and he truly did want to stay with him forever because those emotions were so much better than the cold and the pain that he was used to. Was his experiment turning into love? If so when had it? And was love supposed to hurt this much?

Why had it turned so utterly wrong?

He and John seemed to bicker constantly, and it angered him, and confused him.

Was it love that he felt for the army doctor? Without his memories he would probably have to learn that himself.

Why was it that his childhood memories were still intact but the ones with John were muddied and stained, damaged beyond repair?

It wasn't fair.

The detective had smoked like a chimney and had found a bottle of whisky stored away. In total he had smoked two full packets of cigarettes and had downed half a bottle of whisky. He felt sick and both his head and stomach were churning. He wasn't used to alcohol intake. He presumed John was the one whom it belonged to out of the two of them. He hated the taste of alcohol but he hated the taste of cigarette ash on his taste buds more.

He was aware that John was now with him but he didn't bother looking at him for the simple fact that he actually couldn't. He sighed heavily, curling in on himself, clutching his stomach in an attempt to calm the alcohol sloshing within him.

John finally came out of his stupor to fully observe Sherlock on the couch. His posture didn't say pouting now that he looked at him. He was in the fetal position, his arms wrapped around his stomach like it was paining him. Then John saw his bottle of whisky, half empty, and understood. He sighed and walked over to the sofa, noticing the two empty packets of cigarettes and the ashtray filled to the brim.

'Oh, Sherlock,' he sighed morosely. He placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder and rubbed it soothingly. Sherlock whimpered and shuddered at the contact, closing his eyes shut, and clutching his pained stomach harder.

'John,' he muttered, his words slurring at the tip of his tongue. John sighed and shook his head. He carefully turned Sherlock over, hooking an arm under his legs and over his shoulders.

'Come on,' he grunted as he lifted Sherlock as gently as he could. 'You need to empty your stomach in the loo before you do so all over the couch.' He carried Sherlock to the bathroom, placing him gently on his knees in front of the toilet. Sherlock blinked, glancing up at John with his big blue orbs.

'You want me to throw up?' he quizzed. 'I don't want to.' He shook his head, wincing as it caused his mind to spin horribly so.

'Sherlock, if you don't your stomach will only hurt worse,' John said softly, crouching down to his level. 'And while your throat won't feel very good the pain in your stomach will lessen. Trust me. I'm the drinker and the doctor in this household. I have a lot of firsthand experience.'

'No,' Sherlock grunted stubbornly. 'I don't want to.' He wriggled away from John, curling himself in a ball on the bathroom tiles and moaning loudly, eyes slipping shut. John sighed exasperatedly and ran a hand down his face. Sherlock was stubborn on his best days, but when he was inebriated he was less than tolerable.

'Alright, fine. You stay here and I'll do the laundry. My clothes need to be washed anyway.' He stood to leave, glancing down at Sherlock curled up on the floor and sighing again. Why couldn't he have the patience to care for him? Where was his beloved bedside manner when he needed it most?

'Interesting,' Sherlock remarked drunkenly. 'You're leaving me. Tell me, should I file that away in your blank folder in my mind palace?'

'I'm not leaving you, Sherlock,' John replied. 'You clearly don't want my company in your drunken state and I don't–' He stopped. 'Wait... Did you say your "blank folder?" I'm... I'm completely blank to you?'

Sherlock laughed and opened his eyes. 'Seems Moriarty did a pretty thorough job with destroying my memories.'

'So... So everything you did, everything you said... They were all _lies?_' John stammered.

Sherlock shrugged. 'Spose they were,' he remarked but didn't get a chance to elaborate as his stomach gave a sudden lurch. He didn't have much time to react so he ended up throwing up all over the floor and himself. John paled. Not only from Sherlock's words but the fact that he had just thrown up all over himself. Pushing his emotions to the side he easily slipped into Doctor Watson mode.

'Jesus,' he breathed, sliding over to Sherlock and kneeling beside him. He didn't say anything more, just peeled Sherlock's clothes off and eased him into the tub, starting the warm water and plugging the drain. He left briefly to borrow a mop from Mrs Hudson, merely telling her Sherlock had made another mess. She didn't question it.

He got back to the bathroom and mopped up the mess, leaving the bucket and mop outside the door. He turned off the water and eyed Sherlock with the bedside manner he thought was missing, taking in everything except the scars on his back. Sherlock stared at John, a little bewildered.

'John,' he whispered, swallowing down and then instantly regretting it as all he could taste was vomit. John sat on the edge of the tub, reaching out to caress Sherlock's face. He stopped when he remembered that Sherlock couldn't. His hand dropped and he sighed. Now was not the time for that conversation.

'Just relax,' he said instead. 'Let the warm water relax you. Clean yourself up and then I'll put you to bed.'

'Can't you help me relax?' Sherlock questioned, bottom lip trembling. John's eyes were bright, swimming with tears he didn't want to shed. He wanted to, god did he want to, but he couldn't. He swallowed around the lump in his throat and shook his head.

'I don't doubt that you want me to, want my touch on your skin, but I can't, Sherlock. I can't,' he choked out.

'Why? I need you, John.' Sherlock reached out a hand to John's face. 'Why can't you understand that?'

'I understand it plenty,' John said, turning his cheek into Sherlock's palm. 'But my question is, do you want me?'

'I don't know,' Sherlock said truthfully. 'God, I think so but... but...' He breathed heavily. 'I'm confused.'

John placed his hand over Sherlock's, holding onto it tightly.

'I know you're confused,' he whispered. 'And this is why I want you to be sure. Absolutely sure. I want you to think about what you want, and I want you to be sure.'

'I know I need you. Isn't that enough? Please, John,' he pleaded gently.

John squeezed Sherlock's hand and nodded. He let go of Sherlock's hand and stood, stripping off his jumper and shoes before pulling off his jeans, pants, and socks.

'Budge up a bit,' he said, sliding behind Sherlock and lowering himself into the warm water. He pulled Sherlock back against his chest, wrapping his arms around his waist and holding him close.

'Through all the lies there was one single truth.' Sherlock grasped John's wrist. 'You are gorgeous. So, I am sorry for being so awful to you.' He paused and turned his head to face John. 'You deserve so much more than me.'

'I refuse to believe that I could find anyone better than you,' John whispered. 'Through all the lies and arguments and experiments and massive rows, you are good for me and I am good for you. You are my best friend Sherlock, and I'll love you no matter what. Nothing could ever change that.'

'I hate this,' Sherlock muttered. 'I hate not knowing who you are. I hate that I am uncertain of my emotions when you are so certain of yours.' His entire chest shook. 'But most of all I hate myself.'

John pulled Sherlock close, burying his face in his hair.

'I wish I had the right words to say,' he whispered. 'I wish I could make everything alright. Get your memories back, show you exactly who I am and why you feel the way you do. And help you see just how amazing you are and that you don't–shouldn't–hate yourself.' He ran a hand through Sherlock's hair.

'I love you,' he said. 'And while you don't understand why I do, I love you. You're brilliant and beautiful and mysterious and I love you. I wish you could remember, then you would know why I'm causing your pulse to quicken and your breathing to become harsh and shallow, but I already explained that in the restaurant. You love me, and I wish with all my heart and soul that you could remember why.'

'I am scared, John. Truly and properly scared for the first time since my childhood.' He shifted against John, sliding further into the water.

'You make me feel... things.' His eyebrows scrunched together. 'Good things, and I suppose that's what's gotten me so frightened. Good things don't happen to me, ever. I'm a freak, an abomination, wrong, and I don't deserve to feel so safe and so good. So maybe none of this is actually real.'

'Sherlock, you are neither a freak nor an abomination,' John said. 'And I can assure you that this is not a dream. If it is I would hate to wake up. Because, despite our rows and arguments, I have fallen completely in love with you and I know that you were falling for me. Even though you can't remember I know you can still feel it. Those good things I make you feel are because your body remembers how good we made each other feel.

'And don't say good things never happen to you. If I am the only good thing to happen to you then I am very, very sorry. But I will continue to make you feel good and safe and loved until you believe it. I don't care how long it takes.' He rested his chin on Sherlock's head and sighed deeply.

'There are only so many of my lies that you'll be able to take,' Sherlock retorted, turning around.

'My life is out of control. I feel so helpless and so I lie to try and cover that fact.' He shook his head. 'One day John, maybe not today, or tomorrow, but some day in the future, I'm going to fall and my life will plunge into chaos. I don't want to drag you along with me when I do fall.'

'I don't care,' John said, shaking his head. 'I don't care if all you do is lie to me every single day for the rest of our lives. I'm going to be there for you no matter what. And if, not when, you do fall I'll be there to pick up the pieces and help put you together again.'

Sherlock rubbed his head. 'I need to sleep the whisky off,' he groaned loudly. 'I want to talk about this but I can't think straight.'

'It's better if we discuss this while you're sober anyway,' John nodded. 'Sit up a moment.' He stood out of the water and out onto the tile. He pulled the plug from the drain and helped Sherlock stand slowly. Once he was standing on the bathmat John grabbed a towel and dried Sherlock off before drying himself.

'Do you want me to put some pyjamas on you? Or do you want to go to bed naked?' John asked.

'Don't mind,' he sighed softly. 'Naked might be nice.'

'Alright then,' John smiled halfheartedly. He helped Sherlock down the hall to his room, laying him in his bed and tucking him in.

'I'm going to soak your clothes in the sink and then I'll join you, alright?' he whispered softly, carding his fingers through Sherlock's hair.

Sherlock stretched himself under the covers like a cat. 'Hurry back,' he muttered, face burying into the pillow.

'Of course, love,' John smiled. He dashed to the bathroom and gathered Sherlock's clothes, being careful not to let the vomit covered parts touch him. He put them in the sink and ran hot water over them, planning on letting them soak overnight.

He quickly returned to Sherlock's room and closed the door behind him. His face was mashed into his pillow but he appeared to still be somewhat awake. John crawled under the covers behind him, gently turning Sherlock over so his head was on his chest. John held him close, feeling the hammering of his heartbeat against his side. He nuzzled his nose into Sherlock's hair and breathed in his scent, relaxing despite being so on edge.

'We'll talk in the morning, Sherlock,' he whispered. 'And I won't run this time. I promise.'

Sherlock pushed himself as close to John as possible, entwining their limbs and holding him tightly to him. He hummed.

'Night, John.'

'Goodnight, Sherlock,' John yawned. He buried his nose in Sherlock's hair and was lulled to sleep by Sherlock's gentle breathing.

…**::-::…**

In the night Sherlock awoke. He was aware that not much time had passed as his body and mind were still riddled with alcohol. He untangled himself from the deeply sleeping John and slipped away into the living room completely unnoticed.

His legs were a little wobbly and his mind was a little fuzzy but he needed this time to think because in the morning he was certain that he was going to have a terrible hangover. And although thinking with his muddled mind was probably a bad idea it was better than trying to think with a pounding headache.

He glanced around the room for something. He wasn't sure of what until he saw it. His violin.

He picked up the instrument with care and walked over to the window, holding it over his chest and staring out into the dull night.

The notes he began to play were sorrowful notes that screeched with an almost violent tone to them. They held his pain, washing it from his mind like salt cleaning open wounds.

John woke slowly, something pulling at his mind as he awoke. Something was off, not quite right. He realised that he was alone in bed, Sherlock was gone, and had been for quite some time if the coolness of the sheets beside him were anything to go by. He glanced at the clock, noting that it was nearly 4 am. He and Sherlock had gone to bed shortly before 10, so based on the temperature of the sheets and his own grogginess, John deduced that Sherlock had been gone for about 4 or 5 hours.

And then he heard it.

Melodramatic sounds, painful sounds, sorrowful sounds, screeching from down the hall. Sherlock was playing his violin. But wasn't it still at the manor house? Well, maybe one of them was. John wouldn't put it past Sherlock to own at least two.

He carefully crawled out of their bed and pulled one of Sherlock's dressing gowns from the wardrobe. It was the red tartan one, John's personal favourite second to the blue silk one. He padded out the door and into the kitchen, standing under the awning as he listened to Sherlock play. The man himself was still naked but John wasn't going to complain; he had a wonderful view of his ample bum, absolutely gorgeous under the moonlight streaming in through the window.

The music was melancholy bordering on depressing, but it was beautiful. The inner workings of a man whose mind was tortured, confused, and lost. John listened to it all, drinking it all in, tears slowly and silently falling down his cheeks. He kept quiet, not wanting to alert Sherlock to his presence and disturb him. The music became harsher, more tortured as it reached its crescendo. John sniffled as he listened to Sherlock pouring out his feelings in the only way he knew how. And it was beautiful. Sad, but beautiful.

Sherlock scraped the bow over the strings in a dramatic and almost heart stopping screech. He stiffened and turned around. John was there crying a river of tears.

'Go back to bed,' he hushed. 'You need your sleep.'

'So do you,' John croaked out. 'That was beautiful, Sherlock. Absolutely beautiful.' He wiped his eyes on the back of his hand. 'I won't go back to bed unless you come with me. And if you're staying out here then so am I... I'm here to listen to you, Sherlock, verbally or musically. And I'm not going to run away.' He moved to his chair, holding onto the back of it, waiting for Sherlock to make a decision. Either one he would follow in a heartbeat, no complaints.

Sherlock nodded and gently placed his violin to one side. 'I should probably get some rest before the hangover sets in.'

'Agreed,' John half smiled. He held out a hand and clasped it around one of Sherlock's.

'Drink some water first,' John said, leading him to the sink and pulling a mug from the cupboard. 'If you get some fluids in you now your hangover shouldn't be so bad.'

Sherlock watched as John filled the mug with water.

'Thanks,' he smiled back at John, taking the mug from his hand. He lifted the mug to his lips and began to guzzle the cool liquid down.

'You're welcome,' John smiled softly. He watched Sherlock's Adam's apple bob up and down as he drank the water, mesmerised but not quite enough to be turned on.

'Would you like another?' he asked when Sherlock finished.

Sherlock held his mug out like an expectant child and simply nodded, casting a deep grin at John, forgetting his worries for a brief moment. John smiled, not quite a genuine one but close, and took the mug from Sherlock, filling it up before putting it back in his eager hands. Sherlock once again gulped down the water. He paused.

'I'm sorry I woke you,' he said softly.

'It's no problem,' John said just as softly. He took the mug and filled it once more. 'I haven't heard you play in a while. It was nice to hear the violin again. The music was quite emotional, and frighteningly beautiful.'

'It was self composed,' Sherlock stated, taking an uncertain step towards John.

'I thought so,' John mused. 'When I didn't recognise it I figured as much. It was confirmed when I heard the harsh and almost angry sounds.' He looked up at Sherlock and offered him a small smile. 'I'm sorry if I wasn't meant to hear that. But it really was quite beautiful.'

'I composed it for you actually.' Sherlock edged forwards so he was quite literally inches from John's face.

'Did you really?' John breathed, craning his neck to peer into Sherlock's eyes. 'Does that make me special?'

'Very special indeed,' he whispered, running a hand down John's arm. 'You see, I know how much it frightens you that I can't open up. I suppose this is my way of telling you my feelings.'

John shuddered at Sherlock's touch. 'Your violin has always been your emotional outlet. Whether you were composing or playing Bach or the like.' He swallowed thickly before he remembered he still had a mug of water in his hand. He moved it to his suddenly dry lips, drinking a large gulp to wet them and his throat.

'You seem a little anxious. Have I done something to upset you again?' Sherlock asked sadly.

'No, no you haven't upset me,' John said quickly. He set the mug on the counter, his hand shaking slightly. That shocked him. He hadn't experienced that intermittent tremor in quite some time. Why was it cropping up now?

'It's just... Well, you're naked and gorgeous and right in front of me and I really want to take you to bed, and not just to sleep. But...' He shook his head. 'No. That's best saved for the morning when you're sober. But we should still go to bed.'

Sherlock's brow knitted. 'You know I would always oblige in physical activity between us. It's a marvellous thing.'

'Yes, Sherlock, I know you would. And I find it quite marvellous as well. But you're inebriated and I would feel like I was taking advantage of you, no matter how much you told me you wanted it.' John sighed and grasped Sherlock's hand. 'Let's just go to bed, alright?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Yes mother,' he quipped.

'I would still like to meet her,' John said, leading Sherlock back to their bed. 'But after you've learned more about me preferably. And maybe I'll have learned some new things about you too.'

'She comes back from her trip soon. Maybe then?' Sherlock suggested.

'How soon is soon?' John asked, sitting Sherlock on their bed and stripping himself of his borrowed dressing gown.

'Tomorrow,' Sherlock mumbled sleepily.

'Tomorrow?!' John nearly screeched. He took in a deep breath to calm himself before continuing. 'I think maybe tomorrow would be too soon. She'll have just gotten back from a long trip and she'll probably want to rest. Not to mention you and I need to have a long discussion about me being blank to you, and we'll probably have a heart to heart as well. So, let's wait say, a week, and then we'll go visit her. But we'll visit. I promise.'

He crawled under the covers and pulled Sherlock close, resting his lover's head on his chest.

'She wants to see me. She's worried about me and Mycroft. It's fine if you don't want to come,' Sherlock replied with a tired sigh.

'I'm not leaving you alone with Mycroft. Lord knows what arguments you two will start,' John said jokingly. 'I'll come with you, explain your situation to her if I have to. But I will definitely come with you.' He placed a small kiss to the top of Sherlock's head.

'Thank you,' Sherlock purred softly into to the night.

'You're welcome,' John smiled sleepily before drifting off once more.

…**::-::…**

When Sherlock next awoke he really wished he hadn't. The world was too bright and his head felt like it was getting hit by a sledge hammer several times over. The water had done nothing to prevent the inevitable. John moaned as Sherlock shifted on his chest. He felt like he hadn't slept at all, but the clock told him he had slept another six hours. He groaned and opened his eyes, blinking as he adjusted to the sunlight streaming in through the window.

'Morning Sherlock,' he grumbled, rubbing a hand across his eyes. 'How're you feeling?'

Sherlock clamped his hands over his ears, groaned, and buried his face deep within the covers.

'Well, that answers that question,' John smirked. He climbed out of bed and closed the blind on the window before climbing back in with his hung-over Sherlock. 'Sorry the water didn't help,' he whispered softly.

'It's fine. I shouldn't have drunk so much,' Sherlock grunted.

'You drank half of my best whisky,' John pouted but smiled. 'You still feeling up for visiting your mother today?'

'I have to,' Sherlock hissed. 'If I don't she'll probably drag me to the hospital to visit Mycroft herself.'

'Now that's a sight I'd like to see,' John grinned. 'But not today. What time does she want us there?'

'Early as possible,' Sherlock moaned. 'Why, oh why?' He shuddered. John glanced at the clock. Almost twenty past ten.

'What do you say we shoot for being there around noon?' he proposed. 'That will give us time to eat and I can wash our clothes and you can take a shower.'

'I don't want to eat,' he grumbled, rubbing his stomach. 'I don't want to move.'

'Oh the pains of the dreadful hangover,' John smiled, petting Sherlock's hair gingerly. 'At least get in the shower. Let the hot water beat on your head, let it soak into your skin, gently wash your hair. It will feel fantastic. Trust me.'

'If you come with me, ok,' Sherlock agreed. He brought a hand to his head and winced. 'Mother is going to kill me.'

'Sherlock, you are a grown man. I highly doubt your mother will be upset that you have a hangover.' He smiled and moved from the bed. 'And of course I'll take a shower with you. You barely have to ask.'

'You haven't met my mother,' Sherlock snorted. 'She'll probably try to ground me.'

'I won't let her,' John remarked, grasping Sherlock's shoulders and gently tugging him up. 'And if she does I'll explain that I was in the army and can dish out a far better punishment than a grounding ever could. Manual labour.'

'Manual labour?' Sherlock smirked. 'You're such a dirty bastard.'

'I was talking about doing the dishes and the laundry. Where is your mind going you filthy man?' John smirked, hauling Sherlock out of bed.

'Damn you,' Sherlock moaned. 'You tricked me.'

'It's not my fault your mind is in the gutter,' John joked. He paused, thought it over, and laughed. 'Actually, I suppose it is. But never mind. How about this? If you do a good job with the dishes and the laundry I'll reward you with any form of sexual activity you wish.'

Sherlock nodded and tried to smile but it came out as a grimace. 'You really want me in that way? Even after I lied?'

'Yes, I do. I know I should be mad, but I've spent enough time being mad at you for things I can't control,' John sighed. 'So, starting today, I am going to stop pestering you about why you do the things you do and just go with it. Because you always have a purpose for everything you do, even if it isn't for the right reasons.'

He manoeuvred Sherlock out the door and covered his eyes against the bright light streaming in from the sitting room. When they reached the bathroom John left the door cracked but the light off.

'And besides,' he continued, turning on the water to the shower. 'What better way to learn me all over again than by getting to know me in the most intimate way and setting possible?'

'I'm sorry, John,' Sherlock muttered. 'I feel terrible about all of this. And I really do want to get to know you. You're amazing, really amazing. And sexy, terribly sexy.'

'Thanks,' John grinned. 'I find you amazing and sexy too. And I would love to get to know you better as well. We'll have a nice sit down at some point, drink some tea, eat some nibbles, and just talk.'

He helped Sherlock onto the shower and followed suit, letting the water cascade onto them.

'Sounds good.' Sherlock clung to John, shivering as the water trickled across his skin.

John reached out and turned the hot water up, shivering because Sherlock was. He held him close, hoping to transfer some of his natural body heat to the shivering man.

Sherlock hummed. 'This does feel good. You were right.'

'Always listen to your doctor,' John hummed in reply.

'And what does my doctor say about this current predicament?' Sherlock glanced downwards. 'I assume you have some good advice since you're in the same boat.'

'I have a few ideas, yes,' John moaned. He pulled Sherlock's face to his and kissed him, mashing lips and tongues and teeth together hungrily. Sherlock snarled and bit down on John's lip harshly, grinding his teeth into the soft flesh. John moaned and pulled himself closer, shoving his tongue into Sherlock's mouth, exploring.

'You're bad, Watson,' Sherlock muttered between his and John's lips, flicking his own tongue out.

'And you're my dirty detective,' John purred, flicking his tongue in greeting Sherlock's.

'Tell me more, captain. Tell me how I can be dirty to you today,' Sherlock hushed, running his fingers down John's ribs. John swallowed down his giggle, a growl ripping from his throat instead.

'Well my dirty, dirty boy, you can start by getting on your knees,' he grinned, shoving lightly on his shoulders. Sherlock grunted and blinked in surprise, clutching his head for one moment as his hangover mind hadn't appreciated him being shoved, no matter how lightly.

'And what now my dear Watson?' his voice croaked slightly as he got to his knees.

'I want you to use that mouth of yours,' John grinned. 'However, you can only use your mouth. No hands whatsoever. Not even to grab hold of me to balance yourself. Now, suck.' He positioned his prick in front of Sherlock's lips and shoved his hips forward slightly, impatient and expecting. Sherlock opened his mouth wide and allowed John to slowly slip into it. John groaned as the wet heat of Sherlock's mouth surrounded him, shuddering at how good it all felt. He thrust in and out slightly before letting Sherlock take over.

'Work on giving me pleasure without using your hands,' he instructed. 'Think of it as a puzzle and figure it out. But don't bring me to release just yet.'

Sherlock chuckled, hollowing out his cheeks and bobbing his head in time with the erratic beating of his heart.

'Jesus,' John moaned, tangling a hand in Sherlock's curls, the other reaching out to balance himself. 'Oh fuck, you have got one fucking talented mouth.'

Sherlock grunted, slapping John's hand away. If he wasn't allowed to use his hands neither was John.

'Naughty, naughty my little soldier,' John gasped. 'Oh, I get it. You feel that if you can't use your hands than neither should I. Well, that is where you're wrong.' He returned his hand to Sherlock's hair and held on tight.

'Right now, for this act, I am the one in charge. No fight for dominance, no shared subservient acts, just me,' John growled. 'And you will listen to your captain, private.'

Sherlock growled around John's member. He pulled back and grinned wildly. John wanted to be in control and that was fine. However Sherlock knew that it was his tongue that was the master, the controller, the dominant being. He teased him, letting his tongue slide over the surface but not quite touching him. John moaned and shivered, absolutely loving the not quite contact and the beautiful things Sherlock's tongue was doing.

'That's right, Sherlock, yes,' he moaned, rutting his hips against Sherlock's teasing tongue. 'Tease me until I go mad. Yes, oh god yes.'

Sherlock wrapped his tongue around John, breathing hot and heavy on his erection.

'Oh Jesus, oh fuck,' John ground out, rutting his hips faster. 'How is that even possible? Am I actually fucking your tongue? Oh fucking hell that feels so fucking good!'

Sherlock wrapped his tongue tighter and resumed his head bobbing, swallowing more and more of John's erection. John was now long past coherent speech. He whimpered and moaned and gasped as Sherlock's tongue worked its magic. His hand dropped from Sherlock's hair and grasped for purchase against the wall, his knees incredibly weak from the magical ministrations of Sherlock's tongue.

Sherlock pulled completely back. 'Don't fight it. Let yourself have the release,' he spoke in a voice ten times deeper than his usual one. He then lunged himself onto John. John whimpered at the loss of contact, nearly screaming when it returned with vigour. The sensation of not only having Sherlock's mouth around him but his tongue too was driving John mad with pleasure. One swipe of Sherlock's tongue later John was keening, head thrown back, mouth open in a silent scream, hands grasping Sherlock's hair to hold him still as he came down his throat. Sherlock drank all that John gave him and removed his mouth with a loud pop.

'Good boy. Clever boy. So glad you listened to my mouth.'

John sank down to the floor and sighed in pure bliss.

'With a voice that sounds like sex and a talented tongue and mouth, I would be a fool not to listen. It's a triple threat: voice, tongue, and mouth. I was utterly powerless under that influence.'

'Do you see now? You're not the one in charge,' growled Sherlock. 'I am.'

'Mmm. Yes, sir. Of course, sir. My apologies, sir,' John mumbled, still in his post-orgasmic haze.

'You're forgiven.' Sherlock clambered onto John's lap, grabbing one of his hands and placing it on his own straining erection.

'Thank you sir,' John moaned, looking down at Sherlock's erection in his hand. He slowly worked his hand up and down at first, squeezing and twisting as he felt Sherlock's legs lock around his waist and his body go rigid with desire.

'Is this all you want, sir?' he asked, twisting his hand around the head before plunging back down. 'Just my hand?'

'No,' Sherlock breathed down John's ear. 'I want all of you.'

'And you'll have me,' John breathed. 'May I make one small request, sir?'

'Go right ahead.' Sherlock nipped John's ear. 'I'm listening.'

'I want you,' John groaned. 'God, do I want you. But, I want you in your chair, me riding you, straddling you. You have no idea how long I've been fantasising about you taking me in that bloody chair. Would you please allow me to live that fantasy?'

'Get me some sunglasses and some pain meds and I'll happily go out there and take you like you've never been taken before.' Sherlock squeezed John's cheek and smirked. 'Think you can do that?'

'Yes, sir,' John nodded eagerly. He stood up a little too quickly, his head swooning from the blood rush. He steadied himself and exited the shower, drying himself off before dashing out to get what Sherlock requested.

He first dashed to the bedroom, grabbing the lube from the drawer and a pair of Sherlock's sunglasses from the drawer. John wasn't sure why Sherlock kept a drawer full of different types of glasses, maybe for disguise purposes, but he had discovered it about a month ago on accident. Ok, so he was snooping through Sherlock's things because he wanted to know more about the man with the mysterious cheekbones, but it was before they became intimate so John thought it wouldn't matter.

Dashing out to the sitting room he closed the blinds, blocking out a lot of light but he was sure it would still irritate Sherlock's sensitive eyes. Heading back to the bathroom he filled a cup with water and grabbed some Tylenol from the pantry. When he returned to Sherlock he was sitting under the spray of water, face tilted up so the spray was beating against his forehead in a steady rhythm.

'I brought what you asked for sir,' John said softly, not really wanting to disturb Sherlock if he was concentrating on trying to will his headache away. John wouldn't put it past him, the brilliant git. Sherlock cracked open an eye, made a noncommittal sound in the depths of his throat, and gestured for John to help him out of the shower's spray.

John set the supplies down on the counter and moved to help Sherlock up. He turned the water off as Sherlock stood, helping him out and drying him off gently. He towelled his hair as gingerly as he could without upsetting his love's head.

'Here, love,' he said quietly. 'Take these.' He put the pills into Sherlock's palm and held the cup of water out for him as well. Sherlock shoved the pills down his throat and drank the water as quickly as he could.

'Thank you,' he smiled appreciatively.

'You're quite welcome love,' John smiled, kissing him softly.

Sherlock pulled back with a happy sigh. 'Now to live out this fantasy of yours.' He picked up the sunglasses and slid them onto his face.

'You look damn sexy with those sunglasses on,' John purred, wrapping his arms around his lover's shoulders. 'I did close the blinds in the sitting room too, so maybe that will help.'

He started walking backwards from the room, leading Sherlock out to the sitting room, enticing him with sweet kisses and nips. Sherlock flipped their positions and delicately placed himself on his chair. His eyes were still sensitive but it hurt his head less than with the light shining through, and his meds should kick in soon to dull what pain was left. He dragged John onto his lap with his strong arms and drew him into a tender kiss. John held Sherlock's face gingerly in his hands, his thumbs skimming across his cheekbones. He kissed him softly, meshing their lips together in a steady rhythm. Sherlock, lips still meshed to John's, started to circle his finger experimentally around his counterpart's entrance. John groaned into Sherlock's mouth, arching into his touch.

'I think... I think I left the lube in the bathroom,' he said, rocking against Sherlock. He grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand to his mouth. 'Let me wet your fingers.' He swirled his tongue around the fingertips, looking at Sherlock through hooded eyes. Sherlock nodded his consent and shoved his fingers into John's welcoming mouth. John sucked on Sherlock's offered fingers, coating them with his saliva, swirling his tongue over and between the fingers.

'It won't take much to open me,' he said, releasing the thickly coated fingers. 'I'm still pretty open from our dressing room romp.'

Sherlock pressed his lips to the pulse point in John's neck and moved his fingers downwards, pushing them in without much difficulty.

'Oh god,' John moaned, pushing down on Sherlock's fingers. He tilted his neck so Sherlock would have better access, writing above him. 'I want you, I want you,' he chanted.

'All in good time,' Sherlock chortled, pushing his fingers in deeper and deeper.

'I'm sorry about this,' he apologised in advance before moving his lips to John's unblemished shoulder and sinking his teeth in deep until red blood was drawn and began to trickle into his mouth.

'Oh Christ!' John cried, his shoulder trembling as Sherlock bit down. 'Harder, Sherlock. Bite harder. Leave a scar, permanently mark me as yours.' John had no idea where the hell that came from but he was too consumed with lust to care. He rocked against Sherlock's fingers, pushing them deeper, needing to feel him deep inside. Sherlock sank his teeth deeper; pulling at the skin, creating a hollow hole in John's shoulder. More blood was drawn and soon enough the thick red liquid was coating John's tanned skin on his shoulder and was cascading down his arm. He licked at the wound with the tip of his tongue, savoring the tangy iron taste of John's blood. He removed his fingers and gazed into John's eyes. The greenish brown pools held no fear or pain, but adoration and lust.

'I am sorry,' he hushed gently, eyeing the wound and the blood pumping from it.

'I'll clean and dress it later,' John rushed out. 'Can you fuck me now? Please?' He wiggled down on Sherlock's cock, licking his palm and slicking Sherlock's prick with his spit. Sherlock didn't hesitate. He pushed himself inside and started to rock slowly. He tilted backwards and lifted his hips so that John was perched above him, sat fully on his member. John threw his head back and cried out, sinking down on Sherlock's cock until he was buried balls deep in his arse. He writhed frantically above him, adjusting to his size again. He lifted up slightly before impaling himself down on his lover's cock, crying in ecstasy. Sherlock thrust upwards, hitting John's prostate with a war cry. He snarled and bared his teeth. The sight of John, despite being darkened by his sunglasses, was beautiful and entrancing.

'Oh fuck me!' John cried as Sherlock hit his prostate. 'Harder! Harder please!'

And so Sherlock did just that. His thrusts became harder, faster, and so precise that with every other beat he was targeting John's prostate. John was coming apart, his entire being being ripped to shreds as Sherlock fucked him hard and fast and deep.

'God yes! Yes! Oh fuck!' He clutched Sherlock's shoulders tightly, his nails digging into the flesh and leaving angry little red marks. 'That's fucking perfect you gorgeous fucking perfect human being!'

Sherlock was too busy putting his efforts into making love to John to make a reply but he just about managed to make a hungry growling sound. One last thrust ought to do it if any of his experiment's results were anything to go by. John came screaming, his head thrown back, his back arched, impaling himself on Sherlock's cock until he was buried balls deep. Sherlock hadn't even touched him and John was cumming so damn hard he was seeing spots. Sherlock squeezed John's cock as he came and continued to thrust harshly in and out. His lips went to the drying scar and he once more sank his teeth into his flesh. John thrashed on Sherlock's cock, screaming at the searing pain in his shoulder that was translated to pleasure in is lust-addled mind. His vision was going blurry at the edges and he smiled as he realised he just might pass out from the massive amount of pleasure. Sherlock pulled out, kissing the wound on John's shoulder. He looked quite out of it so he decided to run his knuckles down his lover's ribs, causing bouts of laughter to escape his lips.

'You okay?' he asked in concern. John giggled and leaned against Sherlock's shoulder. As he came down from his high he started to feel the pain in his shoulder. He groaned and hissed as he stretched it experimentally.

'My shoulder could be better,' he grimaced. 'It felt absolutely fantastic at the time, don't worry about it. I just need to clean it and put a dressing on it.' He pressed his forehead to Sherlock's and sighed.

'I feel sated and thoroughly fucked and–' He paused, unsure if he wanted to say his next words.

'Loved?' Sherlock replied. 'It's fine if that was the word you wanted to use.' He kissed the tip of John's nose. He shifted slightly, adjusting his sated cock against John's stomach. Glancing at John's shoulder, he frowned.

'You've lost a lot of blood.'

'That's probably why I feel so tired,' John yawned, resting his head on Sherlock's shoulder. 'And yeah, I do feel loved.'

'Please don't pass out on me,' Sherlock said, stroking the small of John's back.

'What would you have done if you had fucked me so damn well I had?' John giggled, the blood loss making him feel fuzzy.

'Oh god.' Sherlock clambered to his feet, hauling John into his arms and carrying him like a baby all the way over to the medical cupboard, pulling out the materials to clean and dress the wound. He sat John on the kitchen work surface and stroked his now extremely pale face.

'I'm not good with people who faint. Don't you dare faint, John. Just tell me how to dress this wound.'

John's head lolled against Sherlock's shoulder. He was dizzy and his head hurt and he just wanted to sleep.

'You gotta… You gotta clean it first,' John mumbled. 'Soap. Warm water. No hot… No hot water. Warm. Can I go to bed?'

'No,' Sherlock scolded. 'I don't think that's a good idea.'

He leant over the sink and turned on the tap until it turned lukewarm. He then began to clean away the dried blood and purify the wound.

'What now?' he asked sharply, swallowing hard as John's head rolled to the side once more.

'Dis… Disin…' He groaned and lolled his head against his chest. 'The… The stuff that cleans it of the bad germs and stuff.'

Sherlock pulled what he thought was the right thing out and began to dab at the wound.

'Sorry,' he apologised as John hissed.

'Stings,' John slurred.

'That's good. It's cleaning the wound,' Sherlock reassured John. He moved to find a suitable bandage, not bothering to ask John if there were any more stages he needed to go through. But that was fine as he probably wouldn't have gotten a straight answer anyway. He bandaged the wound and picked up John once again.

'Come on. Please be ok.' He rocked him gently in his arms.

'Sleep?' John whispered. 'Please?'

'Ok,' Sherlock reluctantly agreed, unsure if he should allow John to sleep. He carried him to their bed and pulled the covers over him.

'Night love,' he whispered.

John was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. Sherlock glanced at the clock and sighed. They'd have to leave in half an hour. If John was still tired and queasy he'd have to go to the hospital to visit his mother and brother by himself. That was something he really didn't want to have to do by himself and he wasn't keen on leaving John in such a state either.

John's dreams were fuzzy and foggy and he didn't sleep well at all. In the back of his mind he knew there was somewhere he needed to be. Somewhere he needed to go and visit someone. And he had to go with Sherlock and meet someone. He wanted to wake up, he wanted to go to where he knew he needed to be, but his brain simply wouldn't allow it. He slept on, distressed and worried about the importance of his meeting.

Sherlock crawled onto John and awkwardly began placing feather light kisses upon his exposed skin.

'John,' he mumbled. 'Wake up now.' He was surprised to see that that had worked and John's eyes began to open.

John groaned and turned his face into the pillow. His head still hurt and his mouth was dry.

'Water,' he croaked.

Sherlock fetched a glass of water and returned. Clambering back onto John he turned him around and sat him up, holding the glass up to his lips, and pouring the liquid down his throat.

'You're really scaring me,' Sherlock said tenderly. 'Not many things can scare me, John. I assume you know how special that makes you. Even–' He took a deep breath, uncertain of whether he should say anything or not. After all John wasn't exactly in a state where getting worked up was a wise idea. 'Even if I'm still experimenting on what 'us' is, and whether 'us' works. So far we've made a brilliant team if you were wondering what the results are.'

He placed the water aside and looked at John for a glimmer of recognition but all he saw was a misty haze. John wasn't going to go anywhere anytime soon. He looked just about ready to fall asleep again.

'Listen, I'm going to visit my mother and brother now. I'll be back as soon as possible. I'm sure you can meet her another time. Sleep, get some rest.'

_God dammit. I did this! I bit into John's flesh and bled him like a lamb being slowly purged of its blood. Now he's weak and tired, and hurt. And it's all my fault._

The cool water sliding down his throat was heavenly. Once his throat had been properly hydrated John nuzzled against Sherlock, his head lolling despite his best efforts to keep it upright. He could hear Sherlock talking, could hear the worried tone to his voice, but his head was too fuzzy to take any of it in. He grunted and pressed himself closer to the body of warmth, curling against it.

'Dun worry,' he mumbled sleepily. 'Iz awl k. Love. You.' He pressed closer to the warmth and fell back asleep.

'John,' Sherlock said gingerly, gently shaking his shoulder. When he got no reply or response from him his heart did a strange backwards flip. He cursed under his breath, looped his arms around John and dragged him from underneath the covers and into the safety of his arms.

'I'm going to take you to see a proper doctor, ok?' He swallowed nervously. How much blood had John lost? He'd been too panicked to note it.

John's memory was fuzzy and in pieces. He remembered being in bed, then somehow in the back of a cab, and then everything was bright and smelling of disinfectant. Where was Sherlock? He wanted to know what the hell was going on. Where was he? Before he could voice his worries he felt a needle being jabbed in his arm, cool liquid flowing through his veins, and his eyes closed once more.

* * *

Don't worry, John is going to be fine. Next chapter will be posted on Monday at some point. Happy Fourth of July to my fellow Americans, though I am currently wearing a Union Jack t-shirt and drinking tea. My brother called me a turncoat. I shall rebel! Ha :) See you all Monday!

TSA + IB


	21. Faith

Sorry for not updating Monday or yesterday. My days were pretty busy and I didn't have time to edit or post this. But it's here now, so I hope you can forgive me.

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Sherlock's mum, Mycroft

Me: John

_Warnings for this chapter: meeting the parents (scary!), voice kink, lewd acts in hospital, and Moriarty makes another threat to our boys. Prepare your feels. This one's a doozy._

* * *

Chapter 21 - Faith

Violet Holmes was a kindly woman but quite shy when it came to people she didn't know. She was pale like Sherlock but her curly locks were a reddish colour, and unlike both her boys she was always smiling. She did not share the same beliefs as her sons on sentimentality and emotions but she understands perfectly why feelings and emotions scare them witless.

Their father had beaten them witless as children, and it had been as though he had knocked every emotion and feeling out of them, leaving them bare and numb. He had beaten her too but at least she had known better. Both Mycroft and Sherlock had grown up with it and it was perfectly well known that what happens to the boy creates the man. She hadn't been able to help her boys then but as soon as she had heard of all the goings on back home she knew that she could try and help them now.

It would seem that a lot had happened since she'd been away. Both Mycroft and Sherlock had fallen in love with nice, charming men. They were finally starting to move on in their lives and she couldn't be happier. Which meant that as she looked on at the sight of her younger son hunched over perhaps one of the few lucky people he allowed into his life, and with her older son shot in the chest and hospitalised only a few doors away, her heart was breaking.

**...::-::...**

It was bright. Why was it so damn bright? His head hurt, his mouth was dry, his shoulder throbbed. Wait... That wasn't his shoulder that had been shot. What had happened... Oh. Now he remembered. The biting, the fucking, the blood loss. Shit.

He cracked his eyes open and blinked against the brightness of the lights. He searched for Sherlock, knowing he wouldn't want to leave his side. He found him, leaning over his bedside, a worried and extremely scared look in his eyes.

'Sherlock,' John croaked.

'Hey.' Sherlock found a big, insane grin splitting his features. 'How are you feeling now? They got some more blood into your system so you should feel a bit better at least.' He glanced back at his mother who was waiting in the doorway. 'And if you're up to it there's someone who wants to meet you.'

'My body feels better yeah,' John grinned sheepishly. 'Personally I feel like an idiot. Well, sort of. My shoulder hurts, my mouth is dry, and my head is better but I still have a small headache.' He glanced to the door and saw the smiling, ginger haired woman outside.

'Is that your mother?' he asked, smiling back at her politely.

'Yes,' Sherlock replied with a small nod. 'Are you ready to meet her? I don't want to push you.' He smirked softly. 'And you really are an idiot, John.'

John huffed a laugh and rolled his shoulders. He winced at the pressure in them both, but both for different reasons.

'I would be honoured to meet your mother,' he grinned. 'Just let me make myself presentable.' He sat up in bed and organised his covers, smiling gently down at Sherlock. Sherlock gestured for his mother to enter the room.

'Mother, it's my pleasure to introduce you to John Watson.' He moved aside, allowing her to enter.

Violet Holmes smiled at John. 'It's a pleasure indeed. How's the shoulder?' she asked sweetly. 'Sherlock's explained to me what happened. These criminal sorts are a strange sort. Biting you and leaving you to slowly bleed to death. It must have been terrifying.'

John frowned but Sherlock just gave him a look as if to say 'just go with it.'

'Yes. It was... terrifying, to say the least,' John said, eyeing Sherlock but smirking. 'I'm just glad that Sherlock found me in time.'

He turned back to Sherlock's mother and smiled politely. 'And it's wonderful to meet you ma'am. I only wish it had been under better circumstances.'

'Please, call me Violet. Ma'am sounds too formal.'

Violet Holmes' eyes narrowed and she hummed. 'I see that my son has taught you well to lie and deceive, John.' Her eyes twinkled in amusement. 'Not well enough I'm afraid.'

She turned to her son who was looking more and more nervous and edgy by the second. 'I'm certain I don't want to deduce the full details of how John got his injury but I'm not stupid, and I most certainly wasn't born yesterday. I can tell that it wasn't a criminal who bit him. Just as I can tell that you drank half a bottle of whisky last night and are still suffering from a hangover.' She lightly batted her youngest son on the head in a half-hearted scolding.

'Mother,' Sherlock winced and shuddered. John blushed and burst out laughing. He had to hold an arm around himself as he was laughing so hard his stomach started to hurt.

'I always wondered where the Holmes boys got their powers of deduction,' he said as soon as he could breathe. 'Violet, you are now one of my favourite people in the world. I think we will get along very well.'

'And you will be mine, John,' Violet laughed. She indeed liked the man. He was kind and friendly, and obviously was just what Sherlock needed.

'Of course,' she continued, 'that is if you continue to love him as I know he loves you.'

Sherlock looked a little startled at that but he remained mute, hovering awkwardly in the background.

'Until the end of my days, Violet,' John said. He looked over to Sherlock. 'I promise.'

'Good to hear,' Violet beamed. 'Now I'm sorry to leave so soon but I promised Mycroft some cake.'

Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes. 'Feeding him up mother? Stuffing him for next Christmas? He'd be much plumper than the usual turkey we have.'

For that he earned another thwack across the back of his head, slightly harder this time. 'Don't talk about your brother like that Sherlock Holmes.'

He groaned and clutched his head in his hands. 'Yes mother,' he mumbled.

'We'll talk soon, John.' Violet waved her goodbye leaving Sherlock pouting to himself.

'I look forward to it Violet!' John called after her. He turned to Sherlock with a wide grin. 'I like her.'

Sherlock huffed. 'Of course you would.' He crossed his arms across his chest and pouted harder.

John tutted. 'Don't pout love. Come here.' He patted the spot next to him on the bed.

Sherlock cautiously placed himself besides John. 'Are you certain you're ok? You... worried me for a while.'

John snuggled close, resting his head on Sherlock's chest. 'I'm a lot better than I was, that's for sure,' he sighed. 'Thanks for taking me here. I don't want to think about what might have happened if you hadn't.'

'It was my fault that you had major blood loss in the first place,' Sherlock sighed unhappily. 'It was the least I could have done.'

'But I also allowed you to bite me as well. I even asked for more,' John pointed out. 'So it's both our faults. And you were the one to patch me up first as well. So, thank you.'

'Yes, you,' Sherlock poked John's chest, 'asking for me to hurt you. In conclusion this is all your fault,' he grinned.

John mock pouted before smiling. 'I think we can both agree that I am the utter nutter in this situation?'

'Yes we can. I apologised for biting you and you wanted more. Who was I to say no? A soldier must always follow his captain's orders.' Sherlock ran a finger along John's lips. 'Your pout is quite a sight, John.'

John jutted out his lower lip further, giving Sherlock puppy dog eyes. Sherlock coiled his fingers around John's wrist and began to rub methodical circles on his hands. He leant his head against John's and closed his eyes.

'It would seem no matter what we do we both end up in the hospital one way or another.'

'So it seems,' John mused. 'We don't exactly have the safest job, nor the safest relationship either. Platonic or not, we're a dangerous combination. One of the first texts you sent me said "Could be dangerous," but I showed up anyway. Because I need a little danger in my life. The mundane life bores me, sets me on edge. But this,' he punctuated by placing a hand over Sherlock's heart, 'this is what I truly love. You and everything that comes with you. Even the danger.'

'That's what I'm worried about,' Sherlock mused tiredly. 'I love us, love being with you, love how you make me feel and how I effect you, but am I in love with you?' He opened his eyes, instantly falling into the deep hazel orbs belonging to John.

'How can I possibly even know that?' he questioned. 'Because without my memories all I have to go on is the now, and maybe that scares me more than I am willing to admit. Because it's the memories that make us who we are, but even without them I still feel this insane link between us. It's indescribable, inexplicable, and the oddest thing I have ever experienced.' His brow furrowed.

'So how can I tell if I'm in love with you? What does it feel like, John? How can I tell? I care for you, that I know. I'm scared of losing you to the constant battle we face each day, that I am certain of too.'

John swallowed. How could he describe what love feels like? The typical definition wouldn't do, neither would the dictionary definition. Sherlock had probably looked it up at some point and it wouldn't have cleared anything up. If anything the detective would have just been more confused. John sighed.

'I don't know if this will help as you do this anyway, memories or not,' he began. 'To me, when you're in love, the other person is constantly on your mind. You think about them constantly, when you're around them not only do you feel on top of the world but you feel like nothing bad could ever happen so long as you two are together. Every little thing that person says or does is magical, they are the most interesting person in the world.

'When you're around them you can feel your heart beating faster and hear your pulse in your ears. Your hands get clammy, your breathing escalates, your pupils dilate when you look at them. You feel euphoric, you feel nervous, you're happy and excited and all smiles. And when something happens to that person, good or bad, you'll always be there for support. You two are so close that you feel like you can read each other's thoughts, that sometimes they know you better than you do, and you're the best of friends. And when it's just the two of you, even if there are other people around, you feel like you and them are the only two people in the room and no one else matters.'

John looked up at Sherlock, his heart pounding in his chest. 'I don't know if that helped, seeing as you and I have almost always acted like that around each other. But that's what it feels like when I'm around you.'

Sherlock allowed John's words to process in his mind palace. Each word down to the very last letter was placed in the room labelled 'love.' He hummed to himself happily as the ominous door in his mind with a large question mark in it was stuffed to the brim with the new information.

'You're constantly on my mind,' he started. 'You make me feel completely indestructible when we are together. You are most certainly interesting in your actions and words. And,' he pulled John's hand back onto his speeding heart. 'You make my heart beat so fast I'm scared it's going to give out on me.' He took a deep, sweeping breath. 'My breathing has escalated. I presume by the looks you sometimes give me my eyes are dilating. I have never felt more nervous to disappoint someone in my life, and neither have I experienced such happiness and joy and excitement as to what is going to happen next in our relationship and lives together.

'You are certainly a good friend,' Sherlock continued. 'My only friend. The only person to truly accept me as I am it would seem.' He leaned in closer and nuzzled John's nose. 'I do believe that somehow, despite my memory loss, and doubts, and lies, and experimenting, I have fallen in love with you.'

Tears pricked in John's eyes as he listened to Sherlock's words. He hung on every word, every syllable, and realised he felt the same way. Granted, he had already known he loved Sherlock, but his lover's words just confirmed how much he loved him.

'I love you too, Sherlock,' he smiled through his tears. 'I have never been so afraid to lose someone, never been so eager to see someone next to me in bed in the morning, never been so nervous about getting a heart attack because every time I see you my heart starts pounding erratically and I have difficulty breathing. I think it's safe to say that I love you so goddamn much it hurts.'

'The feeling is quite mutual,' Sherlock agreed. 'It pains me to love you this much, because I fear that something is going to happen to take it away from me.'

'Me too. God, I'm so scared that I'm going to lose you somehow,' John admitted. He cupped Sherlock's cheek in his hand and stared into his bright blue eyes. 'But I'm also not because you're here with me now, and just the fact that you let me into your heart tells me that neither of us will be going anywhere soon.'

'I wish I could hold your faith in that,' Sherlock nibbled at his lower lip. 'I just hate not having any control on what our fate holds.'

'You just need to have a little faith, love,' John said. 'Not necessarily a religious faith mind you since I know you don't believe in any of that. But faith in me, faith in yourself, faith in us. I firmly believe that we will endure through anything, and while it may be hard I believe in us.'

His thumb stroked Sherlock's cheek soothingly. 'I love you with such a burning passion and I have faith in us.'

'You're so strong, emotionally and physically.' Sherlock clambered onto John's lap and leaned in to usher, 'That's one of the things that I think makes me love you so.'

'You're mad and brilliant and infuriating,' John said, leaning up slightly. 'You keep me on my toes and I'm never bored and you make my life exciting. Those are but a few on the list of why I love you. And new things get added to that list every single day.'

'I've noted that the mere sound of my voice makes your heart beat frantically.' Sherlock kissed John on the lips briefly. 'Am I correct in my analysis?'

'It does a lot more than that,' John breathed, his lips following Sherlock's until his shoulder protested and he was forced to lean back.

'Oh?' Sherlock raised an eyebrow in amusement. 'I believe I can feel that.' He wriggled on John's lap. 'My voice effects you immensely so, doesn't it?'

'Mmm. Yes, it does,' John moaned. 'When you were instructing me how to wank yesterday it took all my self control not to cum on the spot. Your voice is like sex, Sherlock. So very, very erotic. You probably don't remember, but sometimes before we became us I would ask you mundane questions just to listen to you talk. And then I would take a shower or go to my room and wank right after.'

John rocked gently underneath Sherlock and moaned. 'One time I asked you to say filthy things to me during sex too. And while the things you said weren't particularly filthy, your deep baritone was and I came very quickly.'

'Hmm. I can believe that.' Sherlock rocked harder. 'I wonder if my voice alone could make you cum?' He thought about that for a long moment before rolling off of John.

'Shall we put it to the test? No hands, no touching, just my voice. This way we won't get caught in the act by the nurses or my mother. So? What do you think? Is it possible?'

'I would love to but seeing as you've already rutted against me the results would be inconclusive,' John pointed out. 'However, I am too lost in the prospect and my lust to actually care.' He settled down in the sheets and closed his eyes.

'Go ahead,' he breathed softly.

'Oh, where should I start? Should I start by how I love the feel of you inside of me?' He tilted his head back and licked his lips. 'God do I love that feeling. I didn't think I would. How wrong could I have been?'

John moaned and wriggled in his seat. 'Tell me how I feel inside you,' he whispered.

'Hot, large, and throbbing,' Sherlock moaned back in response. 'It's a perfect feeling.'

'And you're tight and hot around me,' John moaned, his head leaning back against his pillow. 'Now please, more. Tell me more.'

'How about the fact that I have found another great use for my mouth other than making deductions?' Sherlock purred.

'Tell me,' John smiled.

'I think you know exactly what I'm talking about. Your prick in my mouth, tongue gently swirling around it, cheeks clinging against it.' Sherlock chuckled. 'And you said I don't speak dirty.'

'Oh god,' John gasped, writhing, desperate to touch himself. 'More. Sherlock, more. As the song says, talk dirty to me.'

'Shall I discuss my fantasies? The ones of us together?' Sherlock questioned, his voice silky smooth.

'Yes. Go right ahead,' John grinned. 'You've only ever told me one. Where I fuck you so hard you can't walk for a week. Which we've sort of done, but I'd be more than welcome to do it again if you don't remember.'

'Ooh, yes please. In which you could cater to me afterwards as I would not be able to stand.' Sherlock grinned widely. 'Maybe you could help me live out the one where you are gagged and bound, thrashing about on the floor in front of a fire, wanting to scream my name but not being able to. You'll be covered in sweat for two reasons: One, I'll be making hard and passionate love to you, and two, the flame of the fire is so close the heat is almost uncomfortable.' Sherlock breathed out deeply. 'That is my main one currently.'

John imagined the scene. He had experimented with gags and some mild bondage before, once with Sherlock, but before then he had never been the one bound. And it had exhilarated him. He wanted more. And being bound so near to the fire was just the right amount of danger for him. He moaned and threw his head back, his hands fisting in the sheets, his hips rutting helplessly against air.

'God, yes,' he groaned. 'Yes, yes. I... I want to. God, I want to. More. Please. Don't stop.'

'Well, as you may know, I am a major fan of Doctor who. I have a fantasy of you role playing as The Doctor and as me role playing as your faithful companion.' He groaned. 'Imagine the possibilities.'

John did. Oh boy, did John imagine the possibilities. He whimpered as he felt his prick become unbearably hot. He hands clenched the sheets so tight his knuckles turned white.

'God, Sherlock,' he gasped, his hips pumping wildly. 'Keep talking. Fantasy or not, I need to hear you. Don't stop talking. Please. I think... I think this might work. Hot. Close. Fuck!'

'Shhh, John. We don't want to get caught, do we?' Sherlock said with a twinkle in his eyes.

'I have another fantasy. One where I sing to you whilst making love to you. My favourite song being from _The Hobbit_. It was one of my favourite books to read as a child, and it was perhaps the first fictional book I ever delved into. Shall I sing it to you now, John?'

Sherlock singing? That would probably be the most erotic thing John would ever listen to. It sent more blood down south just imagining it.

'Yes, Sherlock. God yes. Let me hear you sing.'

Sherlock began to sing. His voice rumbled from deep within his chest, coiled around his Adam's apple, and slid out of his perfect and plump lips.

'Far over the misty mountains cold. To dungeons deep, and caverns old. We must away, at break of day. To find our long forgotten gold. The pines were roaring on the height. The winds were moaning in the night. The fire was red, it flaming spread. The trees like torches blazed with light.'

John had never felt more aroused in his life. Sherlock's voice was absolutely perfect as he sang, every word seeming to have been caressed with his hot tongue as they spilled from his mouth. John's mouth fell open, jealous that the words had touched Sherlock's tongue so he was attempting to drink them down. He could feel them caressing him, travelling all along his body until they settled around his prick. His back arched and his breath came in gasps.

'Close,' he managed to say. 'More. Sing.'

'The bells were ringing in the dale. And men looked up with faces pale. The dragon's ire more fierce than fire. Laid low their towers and houses frail.' Sherlock tapped his fingers along his thigh to the steady rhythm of the song as he began to sing more beautiful words. 'The mountain smoked beneath the moon. The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom. They fled their hall to dying – fall beneath his feet, beneath the moon.'

John moaned and groaned and thrashed in the sheets. He was rock hard, achingly so, but he feared Sherlock's voice wouldn't be enough to bring him over the edge. He needed friction badly. He squeezed his legs together and whimpered. It wasn't much, but it would do. He listened to Sherlock continue his song, squeezing his legs in a steady rhythm until he keened, cumming with a choked whimper. It wasn't very satisfying, but at least the ache in his prick was gone. Sherlock broke off from his song into a loud bout of laughter.

'Oh John.' He held a hand over his mouth, trying to hold back his outrageously loud giggles. 'If you could have seen your face. It was very amusing indeed.'

John still had his eyes closed, panting as he gathered his wits about him. God, he needed to fuck or be fucked so bad. He needed a satisfying orgasm because the one he'd had had left him frustrated.

'You need to be more vocal when we have sex,' he said, finally opening his eyes, blinking against the bright light. 'What was so funny about my face?'

'You were frustrated with yourself. That much is clear,' Sherlock grinned. 'You wanted more than my voice, didn't you?'

'I don't know what I wanted more. You mouth, your arse, or your prick,' John groaned. 'And that orgasm wasn't very satisfying. So be warned that as soon as we're somewhere private I'm going to shag you into next week.'

'I'd like to see you try,' Sherlock quipped. 'I believe I'd be walking within the hour.'

'I didn't literally mean... It's an expression, Sherlock,' John giggled. 'It means that I'm going to shag you long and hard until we both cum screaming.'

Sherlock blushed and swallowed. 'Of course there's that too.'

John smirked at Sherlock's blush. 'As soon as I'm discharged, Sherlock. As soon as I'm discharged.' He settled against his sheets before a thought popped into his mind.

'Hey, how much blood had I lost anyway?'

Sherlock's blush was quickly drained as his face paled and his features contorted.

'Enough for it to be dangerous to your life.'

'Ah.' John grimaced and nodded. 'Sorry I asked. How long until they'll let me leave? I assume they wanted to keep me here for observation.'

'I think you can go home after tonight. You seem far better. It's good to see a little bit of colour in those cheeks of yours.' He gently swept a finger over John's right cheek.

'You know it was quite interesting. Whilst you were in the cab on my lap you were mumbling some quite intriguing things.'

'Oh?' John blushed, feeling the warmth pool in his cheeks. 'And what did I say?'

'You – er,' Sherlock frowned and scratched his cheek awkwardly. 'You were going on about how you want to bring up children, with me.'

John blushed and swallowed. 'I was, huh?' He huffed out an awkward laugh. 'Sorry you had to hear that. It was... something that popped into my head one day and I couldn't let it go. But don't worry about it. A child is too much responsibility for us right now, and too dangerous with Moriarty's threat looming over our heads. I say we stick with the cat for now, alright?'

Sherlock nodded in understanding. 'I wouldn't object. I just thought you ought to know that. I'm not terribly good with children, but then I have very little experience with them. And,' he mused, 'our lives are dangerous now, but I am hoping they won't always be so. Don't push away the idea completely. Once we've sorted out our lives, our relationship, and what we both want, I'm sure we could work children into the mix.' He kissed the very tip of John's ear.

'I hope our lives won't be filled with danger forever,' John sighed. He reached out and held Sherlock's hand. 'I would love to be able to settle down with you, have an exciting but not dangerous life, raise a couple of kids, have some pets, the typical boring married life. And I can't wait to share that life with you.'

'Don't say that,' Sherlock scolded. 'Our lives will never be boring. Not whilst we have each other.'

'I didn't say boring would be a bad thing,' John smiled. 'Boring could be good. It would be different and a whole new experience. But yes, as long as I have you I'll never be bored.' He squeezed Sherlock's hand.

'I love you.'

'I love you more,' Sherlock said stubbornly with a cheesy grin.

'Oh you do, do you?' John grinned cheekily. 'Why don't you prove that my dear?'

Sherlock gripped John's face in his hands and smothered his lips all over his lover's before pulling back. 'There's more of that waiting for you when we get home.'

When Sherlock broke their kiss John's eyes were hazy. He smiled goofily and giggled.

'I can't wait to see what else I'll be getting once we're home.'

'Anything you request and I'll do it,' he promised. 'Though no biting, ok?'

'Agreed. No biting,' John nodded. 'So, how about we fulfil one of your fantasies? It's the least I could do after you so graciously fulfilled one of mine, especially with your hangover. So, do you want to try the fireplace one? Or something a little simpler?'

'A simpler one? And miss the chance of seeing you tied up and gagged whilst being reduced to a puddle of sweat? I think not. I shall pin you down in front of a fire before this week is out.' Sherlock pushed his hand through John's hair. 'And we both need our hair cut at some point too. Not that I particularly dislike your long mop.'

'I kinda like my longer hair too. And yours is great to get a grip on now.' He threaded his fingers in Sherlock's hair and tugged. 'But maybe it wouldn't hurt to get a trim. That way my hair will still be longer and you can still run your fingers through it. I've noticed you like to do that.'

Sherlock hummed in agreement. He loved the feel of the coarse hair passing through the spaces between his fingers.

'I do,' he admitted. 'A lot in fact. It relaxes me, and helps me sort out my thoughts when they are muddled.'

'Petting your hair does the same for me,' John smiled, running his fingers through Sherlock's curls. 'It calms me like nothing else.'

'You're probably the only person I've ever allowed to touch my hair. Even as a child when my mother tried to brush my locks I would scream and throw a fit,' Sherlock told John honestly

'Did it hurt when she tried to brush it? Or did you just not like people touching your hair?' John asked.

Sherlock shook his head. 'I hated human touch from a very early age. Even before my father began to dish out his cruel beatings.'

'Oh,' John nodded. 'And all that with your father probably just made it worse, huh?'

'Yes. Left me terrified of my own shadow,' Sherlock whispered in a barely audible voice, but he knew John had heard him.

'Oh, love,' John whispered, pulling him in for a soft embrace. 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that you went through that. I wish I could have been there to stop it. But I'm here now, and I'm going to take care of you and love you like you always should have been.'

'You know John, I do recollect something about the day we met.' Sherlock looked a little perplexed. He wasn't sure if he should tell John about the detail he had recalled.

'You do?' John asked, intrigued. 'What is it?'

Sherlock shook his head, his expression somber, eyes dark, blackened by his past. 'Doesn't matter. I'd really rather not delve into it. I believe it was before you and I met that day anyway. It was silly, ridiculous, and completely illogical of me.'

'I'd still like to hear it sometime,' John said. 'If it's something, anything that you remember about me then I would like to know what it is. Especially if it's about the day we met. It's a pretty important day. But only when you're ready. I don't want to push you.'

'I would not want to burden you.' Sherlock glanced away from John. 'It isn't a particularly nice memory.'

'Good or bad, I think anything you have to say is important,' John said, cupping Sherlock's cheek in his palm. 'But, once again, if you don't want to talk about it I won't push you. So, let's change the subject. Would you be up for visiting your mum and Mycroft?'

At the sound of his brother's name Sherlock froze. 'I was so hard on him. I never really apologised. I really should. Not because of the reasons you are probably thinking of though.'

He turned his head into John's chest. 'I should apologise because we are the same. I have been where Mycroft's been. I can remember with such clarity now, John.' He closed his eyes and listened to the deep, soothing breaths John was taking.

'I wanted out. I wanted out so badly. I was a coward though. I wasn't going to end it myself. I was going to wait for an escape to be handed to me on a platter, and if it was I was going to take it.' His own chest shuddered.

'I've only just remembered but that's no excuse. I should still apologise.'

'Oh, Sherlock,' John sighed, holding him close against his chest. He began petting Sherlock's hair, knowing it was soothing for the both of them. 'I'm so sorry. It truly is a miracle we found each other when we did. I don't want to think... No, I already know what would have happened if we had never met. And I don't want to think about it.' He placed a small kiss on the top of Sherlock's head.

'But we found each other, we saved each other, and we grew to love each other. And that is a miracle in itself.'

Sherlock nuzzled closer into John's chest. 'I don't believe in miracles,' he stated tiredly.

'Then what do you believe in?' John asked softly.

'I'm not sure I believe in much these days,' Sherlock replied sadly.

'Oh, baby,' John sighed sadly. 'I'm so sorry you feel that way. If it makes you feel any better, I believe in you.'

Sherlock looked perplexed. 'Baby?' he repeated.

'Um... Yeah,' John stammered, his cheeks burning red. 'Term of endearment. Since you're younger than me... I'm just gonna shut up now.'

'No, I kind of like it.' Sherlock clambered back on top of John, stretching out so he was lying fully across him. 'Tell me more about me being your baby.'

'I, um, well,' John stammered. 'You... You're my baby because... Heh. Despite what you may think, you are far more innocent than me. You curl into my chest in bed like a child would, almost like you are now.' He pet Sherlock's hair and smiled.

'You constantly seek my approval or guidance,' he continued. 'Much like a child, you use me as your moral compass. And, whenever I compliment you or tell you that you're amazing or fantastic or brilliant you puff out your chest and strut around like a male peacock. It's quite a sight.

'When you get all pouty and sulk on the sofa all I want to do is pull you into my lap and hold you until you calm down. I never could before, never sure what was ok or not around you, but I feel like I can now.

'I realise that was more so a list of how you're a child than my baby, but those are my reasons. I love how childlike and innocent you are, how you still have such a childlike fascination for specific subjects, and how, now that there's an us, you seek out my touch and approval and compliments a lot more now. And that is very good.'

'And what does that make you?' Sherlock manoeuvred himself so his head was leaning on John's shoulder. 'My old man. Yes that's what you are. The sensible old man in our relationship.'

John groaned. 'I'm only thirty six. That hardly makes me old,' he pouted. 'Still, at least you didn't call me your daddy.' He shuddered.

'Why would I call you after someone I hate?' Sherlock questioned, frowning. 'I was merely stating that you are the eldest and the most sensible in our relationship. And you are turning grey,' he teased gently.

John rolled his eyes up to glance at the tips of his hair, more visible now since he hadn't gotten it cut.

'Thirty six and I'm turning grey,' he pouted.

'Stop pouting. It's a very sexy thing that you've got going on.' Sherlock grabbed John's hand and brought it to his crotch. 'See. I like it,' he grinned.

John blushed and smiled. 'I could feel that growing against my thigh,' he grinned, squeezing slightly. 'I'm glad you like it. Any particular reason why?'

'You're an older man. Something about that exhilarates me.' Sherlock bucked upwards. 'And oh god that grey hair ... hmmm.'

'Mmm,' John hummed, palming Sherlock through his trousers. 'Tell me. Tell me how much you like being with an older man with greying hair.'

'Like it? I bloody love it! Your age has really made you quite beautiful.' He bucked again. 'It's fantastic!'

John grinned and pulled down Sherlock's zipper, slowly sticking his hand inside and grabbing his lover's throbbing erection.

'What do you love most about my age, baby?' he asked, stroking lazily. 'Is it my experience? My greying hair? The wrinkles on my forehead?'

'All of those,' Sherlock grunted, shivering under John's touch. John stroked Sherlock in earnest, not wanting to get caught but also wanting Sherlock to feel satisfied.

'Do you like how my mouth feels around you? Wet and warm and teasing? How you can look down into my face and see new wrinkles forming from a far less innocent act than scowling? You'll be the reason those wrinkles are around my mouth baby. From me sucking this beautiful cock of yours.' He squeezed tightly before continuing.

'I bet you want my mouth right now. Want my tongue on you. Teasing you. Making you all slick and wet and warm. Or would you prefer my arse? Tight and hot, surrounding your cock in my warmth. Which would you prefer, baby? Or are you too close to cumming to really care?'

'Close.' Sherlock froze, trying to hold himself back from cumming so soon. 'Don't care. So close.'

'It's ok,' John said softly. He leaned close to Sherlock's ear and whispered, 'Cum for me baby.'

Sherlock's body relaxed and with a barely stifled cry he started to spill out into John's hand.

'That's it baby, yes,' John whispered, biting Sherlock's earlobe. Sherlock grunted as he came to a standstill and he picked John's hand up, lapping any evidence of his cum away. John groaned at the sight of Sherlock licking away his own cum. He wasn't going to waste such a perfect opportunity though. He leant forward and stuck his own tongue out, joining Sherlock in cleaning up the evidence. Sherlock flicked his tongue against John's three times before pulling away.

'Doesn't take much to push me over the edge.'

'So I've noticed,' John smirked, licking his hand again just to be sure. He yawned and smiled apologetically. 'I hope you don't mind but I think I'm gonna kip out for a little while. You can go visit your mum and brother if you want, or you can stay here. I won't mind either.' He shifted against the pillow, making himself comfortable, closing his eyes and sighing.

'I'm not going to leave you, John,' Sherlock said, enveloping John in more of his body.

'Alright love,' John smiled, nice and warm from Sherlock's body. 'I love you.'

Sherlock closed his eyes. 'Love you too.'

However, behind his eyelids all he could see was John slowly bleeding to death whilst he chowed down on John's good shoulder. God, the blood was awful, thick and pumping, and never ending .

Sherlock's eyes snapped open.

'Oh, John,' he sighed heavily.

'Mmm?' John grunted, half awake.

'I'm sorry,' Sherlock whispered.

'Iz... It's ok,' John mumbled, burrowing closer. 'Now we know the limit. Bites are good, but no blood.'

'I can't sleep, John,' Sherlock whimpered in a very childlike manner.

'Because you see me bleeding in the flat?' John asked, waking up slightly.

'Yes,' Sherlock stated bluntly.

'Oh, baby,' John sighed, holding him close. He ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair again, hoping it might help calm him down.

'I'm sorry that that's all you can see, but you can also see that I'm alright now. I know what it feels like, to constantly see something so horrible and terrifying behind your eyes. Something that you did, haunting you until you haven't slept for days. But I worked through it by thinking of the good things. Please, love, try not to focus on the bad. Remember how good it felt, not how terrible it looked. And I know you're going to beat yourself up over this no matter what I say, but please try not to dwell on it. I'm better now because you reacted quickly enough to save me.'

'I know, I know,' Sherlock said with a heavy sigh. 'I enjoyed it, a lot. It was incredible. I loved the taste of your blood on my tongue. That scares me because I'm quite certain if I hadn't noticed how pale you'd gotten I would've simply continued biting into your wound. I hate myself for liking it. I hate myself,' he growled. 'I hate myself,' he reiterated.

'Shh baby, shh,' John shushed. 'So, you discovered you had a blood kink. I apparently have a pain kink, but only when you're the one hurting me. It's alright. We'll work through this. We can figure something out. Because I really enjoyed you biting into my shoulder, and, if I'm being truly honest, I wouldn't mind if you did it again. But my rational side is telling me I need to heal properly before anything of that sort happens again.'

He snuggled closer to Sherlock. 'Please don't hate yourself,' he said softly. 'I don't hate you for what happened, nor do I regret it happening. I truly enjoyed it, I did. But now we know how far to go. Please baby, don't hate yourself.'

'Okay, I'll try not to,' Sherlock murmured. 'I'm sure I'll get over it. Now get some sleep. Everyone knows that old men get grumpy when they don't get enough hours of sleep.'

John laughed and nodded.

'You don't have to stay if you don't want to,' he said, settling back against the sheets. 'Go visit your mum. I know you haven't seen her in a while. Go. Talk. Visit. I'll be fine. Even if you only go for five minutes, I'll be fine.'

'We'll go see her together when you're awake,' Sherlock said in a no-argument-about-it tone. 'I really don't want to leave you.'

'Understood, and deal,' John nodded. His eyes fluttered shut and his breathing slowed. He mumbled something incoherently before he drifted off to sleep. Sherlock let himself fall into a restless but slightly less haunted sleep than he'd been heading for before.

John slept dreamlessly, but he was restless. He didn't like sleeping in hospitals, they unnerved him. And he and Sherlock had spent a lot of time in hospitals lately. Twice because of Moriarty, once due to their own actions. John didn't want his subconscious dwelling on it. He forced the thoughts away and managed to sleep for a couple hours before he woke with a sharp pain in his shoulder. He looked over and saw Sherlock's head had somehow migrated to his bitten shoulder and he was nuzzling it in his sleep.

'Sherlock,' John grunted, trying to shift his shoulder. 'Sherlock, love, wake up. Sher, you're on my bad shoulder. Sher?' When Sherlock didn't respond John reached over with his other hand and shook Sherlock's shoulder roughly. Sherlock had been pulled into a deep slumber despite the fight he had had with sleep. He could hear a voice, feel a pulling at his shoulder, but none of that was quite breaking through his fatigued mind.

_It would seem our favorite detective is quite a sleeping beauty. I wonder what could possibly be wrong? Oh wait! Did you think Seb gave you the full cure to Sherlock's illness? Whoops. Seb was never one for having good communication skills. His body is cured, yes. His mind on the other hand ... He may be feeling quite tired. That's memory loss for you. It's quite a draining process. Good luck with waking him. –JM_

'Oh for fuck's sake,' John groaned. His shoulder was still trapped under Sherlock's head and now Sherlock's phone was going off. John rummaged in Sherlock's pockets until he found his Blackberry. He opened up the new BBM and felt his blood drain from his face.

'Sherlock,' John panicked, shaking him harder. 'Sherlock, wake up. Wake up goddammit!' He cried out and nearly threw the phone across the room in frustration.

The shaking got more persistent, the voice louder. The curious side of Sherlock wanted to wake up to see what all the commotion was about but the stronger side of him just pulled him further under the fog.

'Son of a bitch!' John screamed. He wrenched his shoulder from under Sherlock's head and cried out as searing pain shot through his body. He climbed out of the bed and ran from the room in search of Mycroft. After losing so much blood it was probably a bad idea to be running but John didn't care. He found Mycroft's room and burst in without knocking.

'Mycroft!' he gasped, catching his breath. The man in question looked up incredulously at John, taking in his hospital gown and his haggard appearance.

'Thank god your mother isn't here,' John continued before Mycroft could get a word in. 'There's something desperately wrong with Sherlock. He won't wake up. And he got this almost as soon as I tried to rouse him.' He handed Mycroft Sherlock's Blackberry, already open to the message.

'How does he know everything?' John asked, knowing full well Mycroft wouldn't have an answer. 'How does he know every single little detail about our lives? And what are we going to do about the other half of the antidote to Sherlock's illness?'

Mycroft's heart skipped a beat as he read the text. Not again. This was all his fault. He knew that it was, and yet he couldn't bring himself to tell John. He cursed Moriarty silently under his breath before struggling out from his hospital bed. He was no longer attached to a drip but the hospital had kept him under surveillance as he was still very weak, and although he'd never admit it, shaken up by the whole trauma he'd been through.

'I don't know,' he stated, taking a deep breath. 'Get a nurse or a doctor. We have to focus on Sherlock firstly.' He began to hobble out of his room.

If it had been under better circumstances he would have joked about Sherlock's hangover and John's bitten shoulder. As it happened there was nothing to laugh about in this situation at all. John followed Mycroft, trotting behind him.

'Are you sure you should be up and around?' he asked in concern. 'I mean, you did get shot in the chest barely two days ago. And the last I saw, you looked like shit.' They made it back to John's room, Sherlock sprawled across the bed just as John left him. He whimpered and moved to Sherlock's side, moving him away from the edge so he wouldn't fall.

'Get a doctor, John,' Mycroft ordered. 'I'm fine. It's my brother you should be worried about,' he sighed. 'Now, John!'

John sprinted from the room, running down the hall until he ran into a nurse. She was completely baffled but John's urgency to find a doctor spurred her on. John followed her to the doctor and explained the situation, the doctor and nurse running after him as he lead them to his room.

The two swarmed over Sherlock's unconscious body, gently moving Mycroft away as they took Sherlock's vitals only to tell John what he already knew.

Sherlock was in a coma and there was no guarantee he'd be waking up soon.

Sherlock was slipping further and further into the darkness, but for some reason he didn't care. He was tired, really tired, impossibly so. It wouldn't matter if he slept for a while longer, would it? John wouldn't mind. They were both in desperate need to regain both of their strengths.

**…::-::…**

John stood in the corner of his former room, looking on at Sherlock sleeping peacefully in his bed. Mycroft was back in his room recuperating, but John had the terrible honour of looking on as Sherlock slept on. It had almost been a day now. John had only left to get clothes the other day, having been cleared from his blood loss. But now he was back in the same room, Sherlock having moved into it as it seemed the logical solution. And while it seemed like Sherlock wouldn't wake up John held on to the belief that he would. Sherlock's mind was strong, he would work his way out of whatever had a hold on him. John knew he would.

'Please wake up soon,' John pleaded. 'Please, Sherlock. I don't want to lose you. Not like this.'

Violet Holmes silently entered the room and sighed sadly as she watched her younger son taking his turn in the hospital bed whilst his bespoken partner was taking his turn to stare intensely into space. She gently placed her hand on John's shoulder.

'It'll be ok dear. He's pulled through far worse.' John didn't seem so sure. John turned to Violet, tears in his eyes.

'I have seen your son perform some astounding feats, Violet,' he said solemnly. 'But it was always his body that was under attack, never his mind. I know he's brilliant but his mind has never been under such a massive attack before. I'm scared he won't be the same when he wakes up. If he wakes up. I only wish I knew what was going on inside his head.' Violet squeezed John's shoulder and nodded.

'I think we have to stay strong and believe that he will pull through this as whole as he can. My son is strong willed. He's not going to lose grip on reality so easily.'

'I'd like to think that he's coping in there,' John sighed. 'I know he's strong. I see his strength every day. But this one is different. It's so incredibly, incredibly different.'

'What do you mean dear?' Violet asked softly. John blanched. She didn't know, did she? Should she know?

'He... He hasn't been himself lately,' he said evasively. 'Apparently I've been talking in my sleep. About marriage and kids, and I think I might have scared him. Even just a little bit. But I don't think that's why his mind is under attack. Well, I know what's going on, but I don't want to endanger you.'

Violet tusked. 'Don't you dance around me, John. I may be old but I'm not as fragile as I look. Now you tell me what's going on with my two boys right now or so help me.' John sighed and hung his head.

'There's a man, an awful man, who has an unhealthy obsession with Sherlock,' he began. 'We've met him three times so far, and twice our lives were in danger. This thing that's wrong with Sherlock, it's some sort of drug induced amnesia. He woke up one morning and literally threw me out of bed because he couldn't remember who I was. He remembered his entire childhood, his life at the manor house, but everything after that was gone. He never did tell me where the memories stopped, but they were all mostly about life at home.' His eyes flicked over to Violet and he sighed.

'I know about your husband,' he admitted. 'I know what he did to you and your boys, and I just want to say I'm sorry you all had to go through that. But Sherlock, he always thought he was the only one. He made that pretty clear to me but Mycroft told me otherwise. And Mycroft went after the man responsible for putting Sherlock in the hospital and got himself shot... by your husband.'

Violet paled. 'My husband's alive?' She shook her head. 'You must be mistaken.'

'I'm not. I'm so sorry, but I'm not,' John apologised. 'Mycroft told me he had your husband incarcerated, but he broke out and now he's working with the man who poisoned Sherlock. If it even is poison. Mycroft was shot by him, your husband.'

Violet gripped onto the chair John was sitting on and closed her eyes. 'Oh. my poor boys. My poor darlings,' she said sadly in a small voice, her usual smile quickly vanishing.

'I'm sorry Violet,' John said, dropping his head. 'I hate to be the one to tell you. I'm so sorry.'

'It's okay. I would have found out one way or another,' Violet replied. 'Mycroft, I should go and check on him. The poor boy's distraught beyond belief. Even his nice gentleman friend can't seem to calm him. At least I know why now.'

'Yes. Go be with Mycroft. He could use his mother right about now,' John nodded. 'I'll stay here with Sherlock. And Violet?' The woman turned to look at him from the door. 'I am truly sorry. About everything.'

Violet nodded sadly before taking her leave.

**…::-::…**

Silence.

Sherlock's ears were filled with a deadly void.

Then suddenly they weren't.

* * *

I am apologising in advance for the next chapter. It's very emotional and quite long (over 50 typed pages, single spaced). It'll hopefully be posted on an actual Monday. So until then, I hope you all have a pleasant week. Prepare your feels for the next chapter. Our Sherlock creates his own world to cope with his coma. And it's everything he's ever dreamed of. Literally.

I'm gonna go now before I dig myself into a ditch and am drowned in your tears. Sorry. Just prepare yourselves for the next chapter. It's very high on the emotional scale.

See you Monday.

TSA + IB


	22. Dream a Little Dream of Me

Ok, so I'll apologise for the feels you shall ensue during Sherlock's coma dream. But there's a lot of good smut too. Just prepare your feels. I don't want to give too much away, so just go ahead and read.

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Mycroft

Me: John, Greg

Shared: various family members

_Warnings for this chapter: smut, feels, angst, some mental issues, and lots of feels_

* * *

_Chapter 22 - Dream a Little Dream of Me_

_He could hear cheers of joy, clapping, and yells of 'Kiss him, Sherlock!'_

_He opened his eyes with surprising ease. He no longer felt tired but brilliantly refreshed. The hospital was gone now. It had been replaced by a grand hall and in front of him stood a grinning John, to the side a collection of people, all of whom he recognised. There was Greg, his brother, Mrs Hudson (whom he partly remembered. He still had yet to meet her again), his mother and Molly Hooper (he remembered her, but barely), and a vast amount of his large extended family._

_The yells for him to kiss John grew louder and without really questioning what was going on, why both he and John were wearing tuxes, or why they were standing in a hall surrounded by the people they knew, he pulled him in for a soft and perfect kiss. As Sherlock pulled back from the kiss he frowned._

_'What's going on, John?' he asked in confusion._

_'What are you talking about, Sherlock?' John asked, perplexed. 'It's our wedding. Have you been drinking?'_

_'No,' Sherlock whispered under his breath. He couldn't remember drinking at least._

_'Wedding?' he asked in the same hushed whisper. 'We haven't even proposed to each other yet.'_

_'What do you mean? I proposed in Angelo's months ago,' John explained, raising an eyebrow in confusion. 'It was perfect. We had our normal table, wine, you actually ate, and then I proposed and you actually started crying. And are you sure you haven't been drinking? Or is your memory acting up again? Because I thought we took care of that when we killed... him.'_

_Sherlock's heart pounded like mad. 'You mean ... Moriarty? The man that caused us all the trouble and the heartache? He's dead?' He didn't know whether to cry or yell in joy._

_'Yes, he's dead now, baby,' John smiled, his eyes haunted. 'I shot the monster right between the eyes and I would do it again. But I don't want to think about him on such a special day. Shall we go home Mr Holmes-Watson and celebrate our marriage properly?'_

_No less than a second after Sherlock had replied with a 'yes' he found himself flat on his back with John's naked form pressed to his. What had just happened? He would, of course, have asked John but his lover was far too busy placing kisses on every inch of his skin, and Sherlock was far too busy enjoying it._

_'I've never been so happy, baby,' John purred, placing kisses all down Sherlock's body. 'Everything is perfect. The wedding was beautiful. And now, it's your time to take control.' John moved off Sherlock and lay on his back, sprawling spread eagle on the mattress._

_'Go ahead, baby,' he said seductively. 'Take control of me. Take all of me.'_

_Sherlock licked his lips, trying to push away the feeling of something being very wrong indeed away._

_'Turn over,' he ordered gently but firmly. John followed Sherlock's order, turning over onto his belly._

_'What do you have in store tonight, sir?' he asked, wriggling his bum teasingly. Sherlock clambered onto John._

_'Hmmm, sir? I'm surprised you're allowing me to take charge. You seem to like the constant battle we have over who's going to be the sub.'_

_'Sir, your memory is acting up,' John giggled awkwardly. 'I gave you all the control on the night of our engagement. My gift to you for the rest of our lives. Now, how do you want me?'_

_'It would appear my memory is playing up,' he mumbled, still uncertain of what was going on. Still, he'd been given a glorious opportunity and he wasn't going to turn it away._

_'Silly man. Agreeing to that,' Sherlock tutted, inserting one slicked up finger into John's entrance. John moaned and pressed himself down onto Sherlock's finger._

_'Oh, I don't regret that decision at all, sir,' he groaned. 'You always take such good care of me. And your cock always feels so good up my arse. Oh sir, yes! More! Please!' Sherlock pushed a second finger inside with a small grunt._

_'I want you to be vocal, John.'_

_'Yes sir! Yes!' John cried. He rocked back on Sherlock's fingers, his arse in the air. 'Fuck sir, don't stop! God it feels so good sir!'_

_'That's it, John,' Sherlock purred, pushing his digits in further. 'Louder.'_

_'Yes sir! Yes!' John screamed, rocking frantically on Sherlock's fingers. 'Fuck me sir! Please! Oh god, please!'_

_'I make the orders around here,' Sherlock hissed, popping a third finger in and curling his fingers._

_'Yes sir! Sorry sir!' John apologised, screaming in ecstasy when Sherlock's fingers found his prostate. 'Oh fuck! It all feels so good sir! I love it!'_

_'Beg for me, Jonathan,' Sherlock growled. 'How much do you want me?'_

_'Oh sir, I want you,' John whimpered, his legs shaking and face pressed into a pillow. 'I want you so much. So much it hurts. I ache for you, sir. Every minute you aren't buried balls deep in my arse is a minute wasted. Please, sir. Please fuck me. Please. I'm begging you. Please. I need you so bad, sir. Please.' Sherlock hummed his approval and readied himself against John, removing his fingers. However as he did so he realised that something was off and as he looked down he realised exactly what it was._

_He was significantly larger. His eyes bugged in his skull. Even without his erection he was larger and thicker by a vast amount. The perfect size – at least the size he had always wanted to be. Funny how everything felt and looked perfect._

_'Sir. Sir, please,' John begged, wriggling his arse against the head of Sherlock's prick. 'God, I need you so much. Please, please.'_

_Sherlock pushed himself in but he was so large that it took a couple of attempts to work himself all the way in. He blew out his cheeks from the sheer effort it had taken and moaned heavily. John cried out as Sherlock entered him, his large and perfect cock stretching him further._

_'Oh yes! Yes, sir, yes!' he screamed, rocking back on his husband's cock. 'Oh sir, you feel perfect. Always so perfect.'_

_Sherlock wriggled backwards before thrusting forwards. He instantly hit John's prostate. He frowned at that. It hardly ever happened that fast. He usually had to find the right angle. Another perfect thing. John screamed in pleasure, his hands fisting in the sheets._

_'More vocal, John. I want to hear about every little thing you can feel,' Sherlock ordered, thrusting frantically in and out, hitting John's prostate every time._

_'Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!' John screamed, his body rocking against the bed as Sherlock thrust into him. 'Oh sir, it all feels so bloody magnificent! I can feel your cock pulsing in my tight arse, can feel the throes of passion flowing through my veins as you hit my prostate every single perfect time. Oh sir, everything is so goddamn perfect! Oh, oh fuck. Sir, sir I... I think I'm gonna cum!'_

_'Not yet,' cooed Sherlock teasingly. 'Hang on in there.' His thrusts began to increase in intensity. John screamed as he forced himself to hold on. It was only made more difficult as Sherlock fucked him harder, continuing to hit his prostate every single time._

_'I... I'll try, sir,' he panted, pressing his face into the sheets. 'Oh fuck!'_

_'Ok. Go ahead,' Sherlock smiled as without hesitation John began to cum. John screamed into the mattress, but his cries were barely muffled. He came in hard, thick spurts across the sheets, his arse clenching tightly around Sherlock's cock. Sherlock grit his teeth together as he also began to cum long and hard in John's arse, still thrusting in and out._

_'Oh yes! Yes, baby, yes!' John cried, the game over. 'That's it baby! Cum for me!' Sherlock finally came to a standstill, collapsing onto John with a loud smack._

_'Oh, baby,' John purred, curling against his lover. 'Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Oh, I love you.'_

_Perfect. How was it that everything was suddenly perfect?_

_'I preferred it when you called me "love," dear,' Sherlock said with a huff, pulling out of John and rolling to one side. He instantly cupped himself, inspecting his new grand size. How was it even possible that this was his member?_

_'Oh. Alright... love,' John said, pausing before using the different word. He turned over and pouted slightly. 'I thought you liked it when I called you baby?' He eyed Sherlock inspecting himself._

_'Everything alright? I didn't hurt you, did I?' he asked in concern._

_'I do, but if it's a choice between "love" and "baby" I prefer the former,' Sherlock replied, grunting. He continued to cup himself, squeezing and prodding his cock like a curious child._

_'You didn't hurt me,' he murmured, focusing on how heavy his member felt in his hands._

_'Then what's wrong?' John asked, stilling Sherlock's hands. 'You're acting like you've never seen your own cock before.'_

_Sherlock stared at John, deadly serious. 'Have I always been this ... large?'_

_'Yes, love, you have,' John stated, mildly concerned. 'Are you sure you're alright? You haven't gotten into drugs again, have you?'_

_Sherlock glared at John. 'I can't believe you'd even think that!' he exclaimed. 'I just can't remember being so... big.'_

_'I'm sorry, love. I'm sorry,' John apologised. 'But I had to ask. You've been acting weird today. First you can't remember it's our wedding day, then you don't remember how or when we got engaged, and now you can't remember the size of your own prick. Which I find especially strange seeing as you've had it since before you were born.'_

_Sherlock shrugged. 'I've been feeling a bit odd, that's all.' His hands moved to cup himself once more. He ran a finger up his length and whistled. 'I... I can't even describe what I'm feeling right now.'_

_'Well, it was a pretty stressful day,' John said, cupping Sherlock's face in his hands. 'Maybe you should get some sleep. You were quite jittery before the wedding, and now you're... I don't know what. But maybe some sleep will help.' He looked down at Sherlock's hands and batted them away from examining his member._

_'Your cock is fine, love,' he laughed. 'I love it. It's absolutely perfect. And I love you. Now, Mr Holmes-Watson, will you join your husband in bed?'_

_Sherlock sighed and nodded. 'Perfectly large,' he muttered, budging closer to John. 'I am a little tired,' he admitted._

_'Me too,' John smiled. He nuzzled along Sherlock's jaw. 'It would seem you've fucked me into exhaustion once again. Oh, but it was wonderful. I can't wait to do it again.'_

_He settled them down in the sheets, burrowing into Sherlock's chest. 'Sleep, love. And we'll see how you're feeling in the morning.'_

_Sherlock awoke, snuggling against the warm body he was pressed into. He smiled and began placing kisses along the neck of his lover. John hummed and pressed himself closer to Sherlock's kisses._

_'Mornin', love,' he smiled. 'Did you sleep well?'_

_'Brilliantly, thank you.' Sherlock clambered on top of John, his kisses becoming more urgent and heated._

_'Ugh, Sherlock stop,' John grunted. 'You'll wake the kids.' Sherlock froze and paused in his kissing. He smiled and shook his head._

_'We've discussed this, John. Remember? We're not having children till our lives are in the right place. And since we've only just got married I don't think that's now.' And with that he began kissing John once more, grinding his body hard and roughly against him._

_'Sherlock! Get off!' John said forcefully. He pushed Sherlock off him and sat up, staring at his husband incredulously._

_'What are you on about?' he asked, confusion and concern in his voice. 'We bought this house specifically for the purpose of raising children. Our lives are exactly where they need to be. And it's–' he paused to look at the clock. '–six in the morning. The kids don't need to get up for school for another hour. Not that that means–'_

_'DADDY!' a voice cried from below, wailing._

_'–Ben won't wake up anyway,' John sighed. He clambered out of bed and pulled on his pyjama trousers and one of Sherlock's t-shirts. 'Get yourself sorted, love. I'll get the kids up and ready.' John left and padded downstairs, heading into Felicity and Ben's shared room._

_'Hi-ya, Champ,' John smiled, sitting on the crying Benedict's bed. 'What dream did you have today?'_

_'Daddy, when can I get my own room?' eight-year-old Felicity asked. 'If baby Benny's gonna be cryin' all the time I wanna have my own room so I can sleep. I am a princess ya know. And princesses need their sleep.'_

_'I know sweetie,' John said, hugging Ben close. 'Father and I are working on it. Promise. Now, Ben, what did you dream about this time?'_

_'A bad thpider wath gonna eat me!' the five-year-old wailed. 'An' he wath big and hairy and he had eight eyth! But you killed him, Daddy. Thankth.'_

_'No problem, Champ,' John smiled. 'Well, since you two are up, how about I make us pancakes for breakfast?'_

_'Yay pancakes!' Felicity shouted, climbing out of her princess bed and racing to the kitchen. 'I wanna help!'_

_'Of course, Princess,' John laughed, sitting Ben in his seat so he could watch. 'Get out the bowl and mix and I'll get the milk and eggs.'_

_Sherlock blinked. What on Earth was going on now? Children? Ben? A new house?_

_He bolted upright and glanced around the room he was in. This wasn't his room at 221B. How hadn't he noticed before?_

_He sighed and ran a hand through his thick curls. He glanced downwards at his straining erection and sighed again. First things first, he'd have to sort that out since John hadn't. Since when did John not want to help him out in such situations?_

_He levered himself from the bed and idly wandered out in search for a bathroom in his new, totally alien environment._

_'Ok, now carefully crack the egg into the bowl,' John instructed Felicity._

_'I know how to do it Daddy,' she mock scolded, holding the bowl steady as she cracked it over the edge._

_'Great job, Princess,' John smiled. 'Not a drop wasted.'_

_'Toldja I could do it,' she beamed._

_'You most certainly did,' he grinned, touching a finger to her nose. She giggled and started to stir the batter together._

_'Fafer, why you don't have no clofes on?' Benedict asked._

_'What?' John asked, looking up. 'I'm dressed Benny. What are you–?' He turned to look where Ben was looking and nearly screeched._

_'Sherlock! What are you doing?' he demanded, trying to cover Felicity's eyes. 'Put some trousers on!'_

_'Father's naked!' Felicity laughed._

_'Nakie! Nakie!' Ben chanted, banging his hands against the counter._

_Sherlock stared at the sight before him. John was cooking with two small children. His brow knit together in confusion._

_'I was looking for the bathroom,' he gulped, his voice croaky and unsure._

_'Keep stirring,' John instructed. 'And Benny, stop that.' The kids listened; John didn't even have to make a threat. He stalked over to Sherlock and grasped him above the elbow, leading him out of the room and back upstairs._

_'What is going on with you today?' he hissed. 'Sex in the morning? Roaming naked around the house? Looking for a bathroom? The loo is attached to our room, Sherlock. You know that. You also know that we don't have sex in the morning because the kids' room is right downstairs and we don't want to traumatise them. And nudity is not permitted unless you're under the age of four. Our exceptions are in the shower and our own nightly activities.'_

_John looked up at Sherlock, searching his eyes for something. He wasn't sure what it was, but his doctorly side said it was for any illegal substances._

_'Are you feeling alright, love?'_

_'Alright?' Sherlock laughed sarcastically. 'Not really, no.' He tugged his arm free and began to stalk away from John and back upstairs to the bedroom he'd awoken in._

_'Sherlock!' John called after him, following him up the stairs and back to their bedroom. 'Sherlock, can we talk about this? I want to know what's going on in that genius brain. Please?'_

_'What is there to talk about?' Sherlock questioned. 'I only woke up in a house I don't bloody recognise, get refused my morning fuck, scolded for wearing nothing when you know full well I prefer being nude in the morning, and I apparently have children.' He shook his head. 'See? Nothing to talk about.'_

_'No, there's plenty to talk about,' John scowled. 'Like why the hell you can't remember any of this. We moved here almost ten years ago, Felicity, my daughter followed soon after. She'll be nine next month. Ben is five, your son, and he's exactly like you in every way. Right down to the birthday. And I explained to you the sex and nudity issues already. So my concern is this: why can't you remember all that?'_

_'I don't know!' Sherlock shouted. 'The last thing I can remember is fucking you to oblivion and then getting told off for inspecting my perfect cock!'_

_John blanched. 'Sherlock... That was our wedding night. That was... almost fifteen years ago. What's going on?'_

_'Daddy! We need to pour the pancakes now!' Felicity shouted up the stairs. 'And you hafta do it cuz I'm not allowed by hot things.'_

_'Be right down, Princess!' John called back. He turned back to Sherlock, both their eyes wet with tears too afraid to shed._

_'We'll figure this out, love,' John promised. He moved forward and cupped Sherlock's face in his hands. 'We'll figure out what this is, I swear. But I have to make breakfast. Don't want to have to take our little princess to the A&E again.' He pulled Sherlock in for a quick kiss, melding their lips together. 'I love you.'_

_'I love you too,' Sherlock whispered softly before retreating to the bedroom's bathroom._

_'Oh, Sherlock,' John whispered, wiping his eyes. 'What's going on?'_

_He went back downstairs and smiled at the kids. 'So, who wants pancakes?' he asked, slapping his hands together._

_'Me me me!' Ben said, raising his hand high in the air._

_'Princesses first Baby Benny,' Felicity said. 'You know the rules.'_

_'Hey, we gotta cook 'em first,' John said. 'So, while I do that, why don't you take your brother back to your room and get dressed?'_

_'OK, Daddy,' Felicity smiled. She helped Ben from his chair and lead him back to their room, hand in hand. John smiled. Sometimes he wondered how in the world he had been blessed with such a wonderfully perfect life. But he didn't dwell on it for long. Something almost always came up when he did._

_He cooked the pancakes and served them on the kids' respective plates. Ariel for Felicity, Flynn for Ben._

_'Ok kids! Come and get it!' John hollered. Felicity came round the corner wearing a pretty sundress and sandals, her hair pulled back in sloppy pigtails. She sat in her chair and drizzled syrup all over her pancakes._

_'And where's your brother?' John asked, eyeing her suspiciously._

_'Buried under my dresses,' she answered nonchalantly. John groaned and went to their room, picking Ben out from under the pile of clothes and pulling some trousers and a shirt on him. The shoes he always saved for last as Ben was sure to pitch a fit. He plopped him back in his chair and handed him his pancakes, which he greedily ate without using silverware. At least he didn't have syrup on them that time. John shuddered at the memory. Never again._

_'Alright, I'm going to get dressed. Felicity, look after your brother. No syrup for him,' he warned._

_'Of course, Daddy,' she smiled innocently._

_John smiled and rolled his eyes, heading back upstairs. He put on one of his jumpers and his favourite jeans, pulling on his slip-on shoes. Laces were getting harder, and John figured he was beginning to get arthritis._

_'Sherlock? I'm taking the kids to school,' he said. 'And I'll be dropping by Tesco's after for dinner supplies. I love you.'_

_He headed back downstairs to miraculously find his children clean and ready to go._

_'Alright, into the van,' he said, ushering them outside to the car. He buckled them into their car seats before climbing behind the wheel, taking Felicity to her school before dropping Ben off at preschool. At Tesco's he got chicken and vegetables, planning on a simple yet favourite meal of Sherlock's since he was having such a stressful day._

_When he got back home the house was quiet. Eerily so. John put away the groceries and called out Sherlock's name. No answer. He headed upstairs and called again. Still no answer but he could hear the shower running._

_Is he still in there? he asked himself. The answer was yes. And the poor man looked like he had been crying. 'Oh, 'Lock.'_

_Sherlock lay flat on his back with the hot shower spraying water over his body. Tear marks stained his cheeks._

_He had been crying for many reasons. He'd lost his memories again and was hopelessly lost. John seemed angry at him because he couldn't remember. He'd also looked at his reflection and had seen his aged body. His reflection was only a confirmation of what John had already told him. 15 years had passed by since their wedding night. His hair was now peppered with grey and white, his eyes surrounded by laugh lines, and he had finally for once in his life gained a fleshy gut. The final reason for his tears was because he couldn't get up. He had tried, he really had, but whenever he tried to get up to leave the shower a sharp pain traveled up his spine and his back muscles spasmed. He heard the door open after what had probably been hours and the soft call of his name._

_He turned to the man who'd called him. 'John.' He tried to smile but it didn't quite reach his eyes._

_'Oh love,' John sighed. 'Your back gave out again, didn't it?' He peeled off his clothes and climbed in the shower with his husband._

_'This is going to hurt,' he warned, grasping Sherlock by the shoulders and yanking him up into a sitting position. The cry of pain that erupted from Sherlock's lips made John flinch, but he knew it was necessary. He moved behind Sherlock and began massaging his back muscles, helping them relax. Finally, he placed his palm in the center of Sherlock's back and pushed, hard. He felt and heard Sherlock's spine pop back into place and sighed, pulling him close._

_'I'm sorry I got mad this morning,' he said softly. 'It's not my fault or yours that your mind is starting to betray you. I'm sorry I scolded you so harshly, but if you're going to be naked would you please stay upstairs? The kids don't need to see that.'_

_Sherlock nodded solemnly. 'It wouldn't be the first time my mind betrayed me. Who knows how many years I've missed. Whatever Moriarty gave me all those years ago hasn't worn off, has it?' His entire body shook as he took a deep breath._

_'I'm sorry about this morning. I don't remember the children, or this house, and I was a little... dazed. I would promise you that it won't happen again but I can't.' His face crumpled. 'I don't know why I keep on forgetting things or how to stop it._

_'What I do know is that I woke up, was refused my morning fuck, have a life that is a mystery to me, have children when I'm still in the mindset of not being ready for such things, got scolded for being myself, that it took twenty minutes to wank when it should have only taken five. I've gotten old, I've gotten flabby, and I apparently have an ongoing back problem.' Tears shone in his eyes and he turned his face to John's chest._

_'Oh, love,' John sighed, holding him close. 'I hope it's not Moriarty's drug. I hope it isn't a side effect of it either. I know this doesn't sound any better, but I hope it's Alzheimer's. That at least we'd be able to deal with. And we will deal with this, whatever it is._

_'And I'm sorry I couldn't help you wank. The kids are gone and we have the house to ourselves if you want to try again. But with your back maybe I should ride you, so you can lay down. I'm up for it if you are.'_

_'I don't care what it is either,' Sherlock whispered, lips trembling. 'I just want my life back. I don't want to be senile and on the unhealthy side of fat. I want to be young and able to fit in tight fitting button downs.'_

_He groaned in frustration and gazed into John's eyes. 'I want you to fuck me, please. Long and hard and recklessly like I remember you doing.' Sherlock watched as John blushed. 'Don't tell me we don't shag like that now. Please don't.'_

_'We, um... We haven't shagged like that in a while,' John admitted. 'Not since Ben turned three at least. And, as long as I'm being honest, we haven't made love in a couple months. The kids have kept me busy and you and your bees...' John cut off, petting Sherlock's salt and pepper hair._

_'We'll work through this, and I'll do whatever you want me to, sir.'_

_'Can we correct that this instant? I want you to make love to me, John. Then you can talk more about my bees.' Sherlock tried to move but had a great difficulty of doing so._

_'God, my back,' he winced._

_'Sure, love,' John smiled. He eased Sherlock up, both of them grunting and groaning. John turned off the shower and lead Sherlock to bed, not bothering to dry them off. Their writhing in the sheets would do a good enough job._

_He planted Sherlock gently on his back on their bed, crawling over him and kissing him heatedly. He moaned into Sherlock's mouth and trailed a hand down Sherlock's torso, grabbing his half-hard prick and stroking languidly. Sherlock growled, bucking into John's hands, feeling his half hard erection quivering and growing._

_'That's fantastic, John,' he praised._

_'Thank you, sir,' he smiled. 'I've had a lot of practice.' He moved down Sherlock's slick body and immediately sucked the head into his mouth, swirling his tongue as he sucked. Sherlock bit his lip and grunted. He thrust as hard as his bad back would allow him. He hoped it conveyed to John that it felt like years, not months, of a sex dry spell to him. John sucked more of his husband's cock into his mouth, swirling a wet finger around Sherlock's entrance. Sherlock panted and nodded eagerly._

_'Yes! Yes!' he practically screamed. John hummed around Sherlock's cock and eagerly stuck his finger inside, thrusting it in and out frantically. Oh he'd missed this. God, he wanted to be buried balls deep in his husband so bad. He shoved a second finger in quickly, pumping and scissoring to prepare Sherlock as fast as possible._

_'Get in now!' Sherlock exclaimed, wriggling down on the fingers shoved in his entrance._

_'Yes. God yes,' John moaned as he released Sherlock's cock. He licked his palm and slicked his prick before pushing in, trembling at the feeling of Sherlock's tight heat around him._

_'Oh god, you feel so good,' he moaned, pushing in until he was buried to the hilt. 'How do you feel?'_

_'Like I haven't been fucked in years. Correct that, now.' Sherlock clenched his arse cheeks and groaned, his face melting with pleasure._

_John moaned and rested his forehead on Sherlock's shoulder, slowly pulling out before easing back in. He moved slowly at first, letting Sherlock stretch around him. As soon as he could move in and out with ease he grasped Sherlock's hips tightly and thrust with reckless abandon, nearly crying at how good it all felt._

_As John began to make love to him, Sherlock closed his eyes, trying to contain the array of emotions swelling in his chest. On one hand every nerve in his body was exploding and his head was spinning with the pleasure threatening to consume him. On the other hand he just wanted the whole world to go back to way it was before, and just the fact that he knew that to be utterly impossible was distressing him to no end. He knew that what he and John were doing was just a distraction from the bigger picture. He just wanted his life back._

_He leaned his head against John's and a stray sob escaped his lips, accompanied by a low moan._

_'Shh, love. Shh,' John shushed, kissing Sherlock softly. 'It's alright. I've got you. I've got you.' He moved faster and harder, kissing down Sherlock's neck and chest. Those words and John's tender kisses should have offered comfort to Sherlock but they didn't. Instead the sobs began spilling from his mouth faster and louder, and those hot tears pricking at his eyes began to fall._

_'Shh, baby,' John soothed, stopping his hips to wrap Sherlock in a tender hug. 'Shh, it's going to be ok. We're going to figure out what this is, we're going to get you help. Please don't cry, baby. Shh, shh.'_

_Sherlock snorted. 'I'm hardly a baby compared to you now, aren't I?' Another sob ripped from his throat._

_'I know, I know,' John sighed. 'I just... I still like to call you that every now and again. Felicity doesn't let me anymore now that she's a princess, and I try not to call Ben a baby since Felicity does it enough. So, I guess all my leftover "babies" go to you.' He carded his fingers through Sherlock's hair._

_'Now what's wrong, love?' he whispered. 'Why're you crying?'_

_'Because look at me, John,' Sherlock snivelled. 'I'm pathetic.'_

_'You're not pathetic,' John corrected. 'You're just ageing, and I still think you're as beautiful as the day I met you. Can you remember that at least? The day we met?'_

_Sherlock shook his head. 'Those blanks were never filled. I never could, still can't.'_

_He blinked through his tears. 'Do you honestly still think of me as beautiful?'_

_'Of course I do, love,' John smiled, petting Sherlock's hair. 'You will always be beautiful to me. Always. Even when you're old and wrinkled and grey I will still think you're beautiful.'_

_'Is it just me being a vain bastard?' Sherlock laughed bitterly._

_'No, I think you're confused and lost and want things to go back the way they were,' John said softly. 'Which I understand. Sometimes I find myself wishing we could go back to our wedding night. Before the kids, before the house, back when everything was serene and perfect. I miss it. I miss being able to fuck you on every surface of the flat without care. But life moves on, and we followed it. And it brought us this grand house and two beautiful children. So don't cry over the past, love. I know it's hard but we're going to figure this out.'_

_He realised that he was still inside his husband, still hard but not achingly so. He wriggled slightly and his prick perked up, Sherlock moaning softly._

_'I hope so.' Sherlock closed his eyes again, letting John slowly pick up where he had left off. 'I don't know what I'll do if my memories don't return.'_

_'We'll figure something out,' John promised. His hips picked up speed and he grit his teeth at how absolutely fantastic it all felt._

_'Oh god,' he moaned, thrusting faster. 'Oh fuck, it's so good.'_

_Sherlock lay there, moaning and groaning despite the fact that his mind was a million miles away. His absent mind floated to a distant place and he felt completely detached from his body. He probably wasn't giving as much as he was getting from John but he knew that John would let him off, if only this once, under these foggy times he was trudging his way through._

_'Oh, Sherlock. Sherlock, yes!' John moaned. 'Oh fuck! Oh, it's been too long. I've missed this. I've missed you. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.' His thrusts sped up and became harsher. He was close, so fucking close._

_Sherlock could feel his body covered in a sheen of sweat, practically hear his heart pounding in his chest, and his body was tensing. He was near the edge and he heard the two distant cries of both his and John's voices mingling in the air. And then suddenly everything stopped and soft lips were kissing him sweetly, trying to coax him from his stupor._

_'Focus, love. Focus,' John crooned. 'Cum for me.' He grasped Sherlock's prick and stroked fast, his thrusts hard as he was brought dangerously close to falling from the edge._

_Sherlock could hear another two yells and he could tell that he and John were both cumming in unison. His back arched out of instinct and he hissed, his back still paining him immensely and threatening to pop back out of place once more._

_'Yes! Sherlock, yes!' John screamed, pumping into Sherlock until he could no more. He pulled out and collapsed beside his husband, panting and giggling._

_'Oh, Sherlock, that was beautiful,' he smiled. 'Oh, it was absolutely wonderful.'_

_Sherlock simply nodded, his mind gently floating back down into his skull. He found himself wishing that he'd paid more attention as it would probably be his last chance to be with John like this in a while. His breath shuddered and he growled, realising that he was probably going to start crying again._

_'If you're going to cry don't fight it,' John murmured, idly drawing soothing circles on Sherlock's chest. 'I don't mind if you cry. I won't judge you.'_

_Sherlock's composure crumbled as John gave him permission to let his tears flow freely. He wrapped his arms tightly around John, clinging to him like a new born babe as inhuman sounds trickled from his mouth. John held on to him, stroking his hair and kissing his forehead as he cried. What was going on in that big brain of his to make him cry so hard? John didn't want to think about it. He just hugged him closer, burying his nose in his hair. Sherlock felt his body relax and heard his sobs stop but could still feel the tears cascading over his cheekbones. He buried himself into John's shoulder and inhaled deeply._

_'Sorry,' he grit out._

_'It's fine, love. No need to apologise,' John shushed. 'Now, what are the tears about this time?'_

_'I don't know,' Sherlock admitted. 'They just bubbled to my surface.' He sighed. 'All I've done today is cry.' He frowned._

_'I suppose it's a mixture of emotional and physical pain.' He shifted under John and hissed. 'Back's still playing havoc on me. Does it usually do this to me?'_

_'You've been having back issues for a couple years,' John explained. 'I blame it on the last time we tried to make love in the shower and you slipped. You landed on your back really hard, and I was so scared, but it wasn't broken. Just sprained and prone to act up every now and again._

_'And everyone is allowed completely emotional days every now and again,' he continued, stroking Sherlock's hair soothingly. 'My last one was a couple weeks ago. The kids were acting up, you were tending to your bees, I had to have Greg and Mycroft drop the kids off at school... So I sat in the shower and cried for at least an hour.'_

_Sherlock instantly perked up. 'My brother and that detective fellow are still together?' he asked curiously. 'How's Mycroft? Is he ok? He is okay isn't he?' Sherlock bit his lip. 'You'd tell me if he wasn't, wouldn't you?'_

_The last time he could remember seeing Mycroft was in the hospital with a severe gunshot wound, depression, and suicidal tendencies. It wasn't a pleasant image and he'd do anything to shake it away and replace it with another one._

_'Yes, they're still together,' John smiled. 'Got married not long after we did. And Mycroft is better, albeit a bit... larger round the middle. You always find a reason to tease him about it. Speaking of which, it's a Tuesday. He and Greg always take the kids out for ice cream on Tuesdays. So they won't be back until five.'_

_Sherlock laughed. 'That'll be all the cake he eats under stress. Then again, I see he's not the only one who has gained weight,' Sherlock pouted. 'What on Earth have you been feeding me?'_

_Then, sobering up, his smile was washed away. 'I've forgotten their wedding. I suppose I have a lot to learn about what has occurred since our own wedding night, haven't I?' He paused._

_'Did you just say we're alone till five?' He beamed, his mood changing again. 'Oh the possibilities.'_

_'I've been feeding you what you've always needed: food,' John smirked. 'The healthy kind, not crisps and sweets. And it's a healthy weight, Sherlock. Quit poking at your belly.'_

_He smirked at all the options Sherlock's broad statement provided his mind. 'Yes. Just you and me until five. Five whole hours to ourselves. What shall we do first?'_

_'We shag,' Sherlock grinned cheekily. 'And then we shag some more. And once we're done shagging I could go for some "food" as you call it. And then if there's time can we fit in one more shag?' He giggled._

_'Sorry. It's like my cock's been asleep for fifteen years.'_

_'Sounds like a perfect day,' John grinned. 'So, how do you want me, sir?'_

_'Sat on me like a good little soldier,' Sherlock replied._

_'Do you want to be the one to open me up, sir? Or shall I?' John asked, moving to sit on Sherlock's hips._

_'May I do the honour?' he asked gingerly._

_'Go right ahead sir,' John purred, trailing his fingers down Sherlock's chest. Sherlock prodded John's entrance cautiously with one of his long fingers. John closed his eyes and hummed, leaning into Sherlock's touch. Sherlock pushed one finger as deep as it would go_

_'Oh John.' He pulled John to his lips and kissed him for a long time. John melded his lips to Sherlock's, kissing him passionately for the first time in months. He rocked back on Sherlock's finger, moaning into his husband's mouth._

_'I've missed this, sir,' he whispered against Sherlock's lips. 'I've missed having you take me, claim me. Don't be afraid to be a little rough when you do.' He brought his lips to Sherlock's again, claiming his mouth. Sherlock kissed John rough and clumsily before pulling back to simply stare at his lover._

_'I've missed this full stop,' Sherlock retorted. 'Thought you didn't want me at all this morning. Kind of scared me if I'm being honest.' He pushed another finger in and stretched John open._

_'I apologise for that misunderstanding, sir,' John groaned, pushing back on Sherlock's fingers. 'I always want you, but our lives have just been so busy we haven't had time. And morning sex can't happen so long as the kids sleep directly below us.'_

_Sherlock inserted a third finger. 'What about the silencer?' he questioned._

_'The what?' John asked, rocking back on Sherlock's fingers with a moan._

_'The silencer,' Sherlock replied. 'Remember, all those years ago when we made love in the changing rooms, that little metal device? It creates a force field and keeps all of the sound within it. We could always get a baby monitor too. That way if the children need you you'll know.' Sherlock scissored John and watched as his lover's head flung back and his moans grew louder._

_'I'll get my morning love making session, and you'll be able to protect your children's "innocence."'_

_'Oh, right,' John said. 'Mycroft confiscated that shortly before Felicity came along. Said he didn't want us, meaning you, to use it to silence our child's cries. Sorry, but we don't have that handy little device anymore. And I think Myc and Greg use it at the Yard and Myc's office.' John moaned as Sherlock stretched him further, rocking back on his fingers._

_'And they aren't just_

_**my** children,' he continued. 'They're yours too. Granted, Felicity is my biological daughter and Ben is your biological son, but we raised them as brother and sister. They're ours, love.' He gasped and shuddered when Sherlock found his prostate._

_'Forget the kids,' he moaned, rocking faster. 'This is our time. Can you fuck me now? Please? It's been so long since I've had anything up my arse. I need you, now.' Sherlock removed his fingers and slicked up his cock._

_'I'm going to kill him,' he huffed, lifting John up and gently sliding him down onto his member. He began moving his hips. 'We'll talk about the children later,' he grunted._

_'You might have to use your legs a little, John. It'll save my lower back muscles.' He thrust upwards, hitting John's prostate as perfectly as he'd done on their wedding night._

_'Mmm, yes sir,' John moaned, rocking back on his husband's prick. He lifted up slightly before pushing back down, moaning loudly. He picked up a steady rhythm, rocking and impaling himself on his husband's cock, crying out as he hit his prostate with perfect precision every time. Sherlock wrapped one arm around John's waist and used the other to pull John's lips to his own. He kissed him with a fiery passion, trying to coax him over the edge. John's hips moved faster, kissing Sherlock heatedly, his tongue delving into his mouth. He whimpered when he felt Sherlock's greet his, his hips moving faster and stuttering as he came closer to his release._

_One tongue flick and impalement later John was cumming across Sherlock's stomach and chest, his head thrown back in a silent scream. Sherlock continued to kiss John as he came sharply into him. His lips continued to attack his husband's even as he came to a standstill. John clutched Sherlock's face in his hands, snogging him like they were a couple of teenagers in the back of a car._

_Sherlock was the one to break the kiss. He grinned at John like a lunatic and moved his fingers over John's ribs, remembering how ticklish he was there. Giggles spurted from John's lips and he squirmed in Sherlock's lap. Sherlock pulled himself out of John before continuing to tickle John with no mercy._

_'Let me hear that wonderful laugh of yours, John.' John clamped his lips shut but the laughter burst forth anyway. He giggled and squealed and full on laughed as Sherlock tickled him. His hands reached for Sherlock's, but they were too fast, constantly moving to a new location. His laughter continued, filling the room with the joyous sound._

_Sherlock stilled his hands, letting up on his torture. 'I love you,' he smiled, chuckling happily._

_'I love you, too,' John panted. He leaned down and kissed Sherlock tenderly, curling his fingers in his hair._

_'No, I mean, I really love you,' Sherlock whispered. 'I don't think I ever say that enough._

_'I have a feeling that we've been drifting apart. Even without my memories I have deduced that.' He paused. 'Am I correct? Have we been... drifting?' John glanced away, swallowing thickly._

_'Not that much,' he admitted. 'I mean, since the kids came things have been a little tense. You aren't as involved in their lives as I'd like you to be. I mean, Mycroft spends more time with them than you do for god's sake. You spend more time tending to your bees than you do with your family.' He looked back at Sherlock, his eyes watery._

_'I don't want us to drift apart, Sherlock. I want you to be involved in our children's lives. They only have one childhood, and you're missing it. Felicity is going to be nine soon, and Ben is five and a half. They're both at very impressionable ages and I don't want their only memories to be of me with you sort of lingering distantly in the background. They only ever call for me when they're in pain or scared. They never call for Father, just Daddy. I know they love you, they're sort of obligated to at their ages, but sooner or later they're going to realise you think they aren't important enough to pay attention to and they're going to resent you. And I don't want that to happen.'_

_'I told you a long time ago that I'm not good with children.' Sherlock chewed on his lower lip anxiously, and took a deep breath. 'I sound like a terrible parent. Still, better than my father I suppose. Maybe that's what scares me. Getting close to our children might mean that I hurt them. They're such fragile things.' He shook his head. 'I'm terrified of turning out like him. Perhaps that's why I kept my distance in the past. And especially now. Who knows what's going on with my mind?' He shifted beneath John. 'What if I'm no longer... stable? What will I forget next?'_

_'You will never be your father, Sherlock,' John assured him. 'Your father was a monster who beat and abused his family. You are a part of your children's lives, and I know how scared you are of hurting them, but I know you won't. Because you're too scared of turning into your father. Which I personally believe is the reason you distance yourself and tend to your bees more so than us.' John tenderly held Sherlock's face in his hands and offered him a small smile._

_'I don't think you are unstable. I think you're lost and scared, and you want to know why you can't remember. I want to know too. So, first thing tomorrow, we'll both drop the kids off at school and go see a proper doctor. One who's paid to look into people's heads.'_

_'A shrink?' Sherlock wrinkled up his nose in distaste. 'You want me to see a shrink?'_

_'I didn't say that,' John said. 'I don't think you're crazy, so you don't need to see a shrink. Isn't there a specialist in the medical field who can diagnose patients with memory issues?' John paused and thought about it._

_'Oh. I suppose there isn't. But I still think you don't need a psychiatrist. I just want someone to maybe take a scan of your brain to see if there's anything going on in there that would be causing this.'_

_Sherlock swallowed. 'You don't think I have something seriously wrong with me, do you?'_

_'I don't know what to think,' John said softly. 'But I certainly hope not.'_

_'Alzheimer's, you said. Is it a possibility I've got that?' Sherlock asked in a terrified voice._

_'That or dementia,' John nodded solemnly. 'Possibly both. But if we caught it early enough there's medication you can take to slow the process. Give you more time before you forget... almost everything.'_

_Sherlock's eyes widened. 'Everything?' he repeated._

_'You would... basically revert into a child,' John said solemnly. 'You wouldn't remember me, or our children, you would probably think your brother was your father since he looks so much like him and would be scared to death of him. You would be angry and confused and... unstable.'_

_Sherlock closed his eyes. 'What then? What do we do then? You'll leave me I presume. I'll be a danger to the children.'_

_'I am never going to leave you, Sherlock,' John assured him. 'And by the time you reached that stage the children would be out of the house anyway. Either at Uni or in flats of their own. And if you have Alzheimer's and it comes to that I'll get you the proper care. If you have to move into a home I'll move in with you. Because I will never leave you. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, together forever. I promise.'_

_'You'd follow me anywhere,' he smiled._

_'We'll go to the doctor's tomorrow. Whatever the news is I promise to stop my bee keeping. If there is going to be a time where I can't remember the children I don't want them to resent me.'_

_'If you wouldn't kill me in the afterlife I'd probably follow you to the grave,' John smiled softly._

_'Don't say that. I really would kill you again if you followed me to my grave,' Sherlock said, quite upset at the idea of John's death._

_'Which is why I'll stay alive for you,' John said. 'Because I know you wouldn't want me to off myself to be with you again.' He nuzzled his head between Sherlock's neck and shoulder. 'I love you, and I'll always be there for you, even if you can't remember me. I was there for you the first time, and I'll be there for you again.'_

_'What did I do to deserve you?' Sherlock asked. 'How could a man like me end up with a man like you?'_

_'Karma?' John suggested. 'You had enough bad in your life, so all the good culminated in me? Or just a bloody miracle.'_

_Sherlock nodded and snuggled against John. 'I'll go for the latter. It's a miracle that you wanted to be with me.'_

_'And it's a miracle you let me,' John sighed, pressing his nose closer to the hollow of Sherlock's throat. He hummed in content._

_'No, that's no miracle, John. You're a good man, better than me, far better. And the way you make me feel is fantastic. And then there's your uncanny ability to forgive me when I am a terrible human being.' Sherlock inhaled John's scent and placed a sloppy kiss upon John's head._

_John smiled against Sherlock's neck. 'Well, when you put it that way,' he trailed off, placing a soft kiss against Sherlock's throat. 'But I still consider it a miracle because you were so closed off and cold. The way you let me creep into your heart the way you did was... I don't know what it was. But I sure am glad that you did.'_

_'I only stayed that cold to protect myself from loss,' Sherlock replied, frowning. 'I have so much to lose right now.'_

_'Yes, but you'll always have me,' John whispered. 'Promise.'_

_'Don't make promises you can't keep. You're older than me. It is logical that you'll be the first to bite the dust so to speak,' Sherlock's voice trembled._

_'And who says I won't come back as a ghost or angel to watch over you until you follow me?' John retorted._

_'Because you know my beliefs on both the supernatural and religion,' Sherlock said with a sad smile._

_'But you know I would be the one to challenge that in the afterlife,' John grinned. 'You know I would.'_

_'If anybody were to challenge me it would most certainly be you,' Sherlock agreed. John hummed and settled on Sherlock's shoulder, his eyes closing as he became comfortable. Sherlock ran a hand over John's back and his fingertips swirled in delicate patterns._

_'Do you remember this? The silent messages via Gallifreyan?'_

_'Yes, but only the ones we used most often,' John hummed. 'Like terms of endearment or words of love. The only complicated thing I remember how to write is our names. Oh, and the word eternity.'_

_Sherlock laughed. 'Oh yes. That one I remember clearly too.' Sherlock drew the round circles spelling his and John's names and eternity._

_'I bet you don't know this one.' He drew another pattern. This one was even more complex than the previous._

_'Can't say that I do,' John said, feeling the pattern form on his back. 'What's it mean?'_

_'Family,' Sherlock stated. 'It is a promise that I will try harder to be there for you and your –_

_**our** – children.' John sat up and smiled down at him. He drew circles on Sherlock's chest, a thank you. Sherlock and John lay in content silence, both drawing Gallifreyan patterns on each other's skin._

_It came as a big surprise when Sherlock felt his belly vibrate and heard a horribly loud growl emit from it. He frowned and huffed. He couldn't remember feeling this hungry before. It would seem his stomach was used to constant food not the occasional meal as it once had been. When had he last eaten? His stomach growled and vibrated once more. He closed his eyes and sighed._

_'Oh, right,' John laughed. 'You haven't eaten anything yet today. Probably not since dinner last night. How about I make us lunch, then we can pick up where we left off?'_

_Sherlock smiled, opening his eyes. 'I like that idea a lot.'_

_'I thought you might,' John smiled. He rolled off Sherlock and pulled on a pair of pyjama trousers. 'Do you want me to make lunch and bring it to you so we can eat it in bed? Or do you want to try going downstairs?'_

_Sherlock lifted himself up and hissed, flailing back onto the bed. 'I believe that's our answer,' he grit out._

_'Alright then. You stay here and try to relax your back. Maybe I'll give you a massage later,' John mused. 'And are sandwiches ok for lunch? I don't want to go overboard since I've got a big dinner planned.'_

_'Sandwiches are great. As for that massage...' He wriggled his eyebrows and purred._

_'I'm looking forward to that bit,' John grinned. He bent down and pecked Sherlock on the lips. 'Anything specific you want on your sandwich? Or do you just want what I'll be having?'_

_Sherlock hummed and thought about it. 'Chocolate spread?' he asked hopefully._

_'Not sure we have that, but I'll check. Be back soon, love.' He trotted out of the room and down the stairs to the kitchen. It was still a mess from the pancakes that morning. John sighed and quickly cleaned it up, making room for dinner later. He grabbed the bread, lunch meat, and cheese from the fridge, searching the pantry for the chocolate spread. He found it, surprisingly. He didn't remember buying it. He frowned but shrugged, dismissing it._

_He set about making their lunch, putting turkey, cheddar cheese, and mayo on his. Chocolate spread, chicken, and Swiss went on Sherlock's. he put the food away and put their sandwiches on a little tray, pulling out two small bags of crisps from the pack he used for the kids' lunches sometimes. He ambled back upstairs to find Sherlock had propped himself up with a bunch of pillows._

_'Lunch,' John smiled, sitting cross-legged next to his husband. He handed Sherlock his sandwich and a bag of crisps. 'Just try not to get crumbs in the sheets. They'll be bothersome when I fuck you again.'_

_'I'm not a child, Jonathan,' he huffed, taking a large bite of his sandwich and groaning at how fantastic it tasted. This man knew him too well._

_'Eh. See? You actually enjoy eating now, all due to my fabulous cooking,' John smiled, taking a large bite of his own sandwich. 'Hence your healthy weight.'_

_'You mean my newly acquired stomach?' Sherlock asked through large bites. 'It's not a healthy weight. Not for me.'_

_'And looking like a skeleton was?' John retorted. 'Trust me, as a medical man this is far healthier for your height and age.'_

_'Oh, a man should never argue with his doctor,' Sherlock grinned, chomping down on the last of his sandwich._

_'No, he really shouldn't,' John said through a mouthful of sandwich. 'Now eat your crisps.' Sherlock ripped the packet of crisps open and began to savour the salt and vinegar taste in his mouth._

_'God, food is good!' he exclaimed._

_'If I didn't know any better I'd say you can't remember the last time you ate,' John said, popping the final bite of his sandwich in his mouth. He opened his packet of crisps and chewed on one with a satisfying crunch._

_'I can't,' Sherlock replied bluntly. 'I really can't remember eating, or anything for that matter.'_

_John frowned. 'That's... a matter for concern,' he said slowly. He looked down at his crisps, suddenly not wanting them anymore. He passed them to Sherlock. 'Here. I think you need these more than I do.'_

_Sherlock shook his head. 'You need to eat, John.' He tossed the crisp packet back at him._

_'I did,' he said, looking at the crisp packet like it had personally wronged him. 'I ate my sandwich. And I really didn't need these. I had enough at breakfast.'_

_Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Would it wipe your frown away if I ate them?'_

_'It might, yeah,' John sighed._

_'I'm not exactly wasting away, John,' he sighed, reaching for the packet of crisps. 'But alright. I'll eat them along with my own.'_

_'It's not that,' John sighed again. 'It's that you can't remember eating, so I just want to be sure you eat enough now.'_

_'I thought you said we had dinner together last night? Didn't I eat much then? Because if I ate a lot then you know it's just my memory playing up on me. There's nothing to worry about... at least eating wise anyway.' Sherlock began to gorge himself on both sets of crisps._

_'We had spaghetti, which was a mistake,' John shuddered, laughing slightly. 'Ben had it everywhere. He was a complete mess. It took a while to clean him up, and then I had to clean the kitchen afterwards too.'_

_Sherlock sniggered. 'If he's anything like me he'll be leaving messes in his wake for a long time to come.'_

_John groaned but smiled. 'I'm actually looking forward to that,' he grinned. 'He is definitely his father's son. I see so much of you in him, and not just the pale skin and curly dark hair. He's got your personality, to an extent. He's smart for his age, he notices things, and he always quiets down when you play your violin. He's a little you, and it just makes me smile that there's so much of you in him.'_

_'We should get him lessons if he enjoys my violin playing so much,' Sherlock mused. 'And of course I could help him develop his deducing skills.'_

_He suddenly paled. 'Oh god!' he exclaimed. 'If he's like me I am not looking forward to the teenage years.'_

_'What happened in your teenage years?' John asked, raising an eyebrow._

_'Imagine the me you must have first encountered,' Sherlock sighed. 'Add anger, moodiness, extreme quiet spells, secretiveness, rebelliousness, and a habit of mixing with the wrong crowd.'_

_'Was that when the drugs started for you?' John asked softly._

_Sherlock nodded. 'I wouldn't wish that on any child, let alone my own flesh and blood.'_

_'We won't let Ben go down that road,' John stated. 'We'll be there for him, unlike your father. You had a poor childhood, Ben won't. I won't allow it.'_

_'It doesn't matter what type of childhood you come from when it comes to drugs.' Sherlock glanced away from John, finishing off the crisps._

_'It's the crowd he is sure to get mixed up in. He's smart. Children are vicious. They don't like smart. He is an easy picking for bullies. He'll get angry and distant until he reaches his teenage years. And when he gets called freak one too many times he'll cross the line and join them, picking up his drug habit soon after.'_

_John's lower lip trembled. He couldn't stand the image of his Benny taking that road, becoming that. He was smart, but were children really that vicious? Yes, yes they were. He used to bully the smart kids once, a very long time ago. But he never found pride in doing it, it pained him to see them in pain, so he stopped. And he didn't want Ben to go through that too, but he didn't want to ask him to stop being smart so he would have an easier life. A choked sob escaped John's lips and he shut his eyes._

_'I don't want my baby boy to go through that,' he choked out. 'No, never. But, I don't want him to dumb himself down to fit in either. That would be so much worse, him not being able to show how smart he is. What do we do?'_

_'We let him know smart is good and that it gets better.' Sherlock placed his plate and rubbish to the side and opened his arms wide, gesturing for John to come and hug him as he himself couldn't move to do so._

_'We teach him the violin. It will help calm his thoughts. It just helps with everything. At least, it helped me. I can't really explain why but it does.' He paused._

_'And I know the signs of drug abuse. Mycroft will recognise them too. He had to deal with mine for a long time. We can help him.'_

_'Don't talk like the drugs have already happened,' John sniffled, laying down on Sherlock's chest in a weak hug. 'He's only five for god's sake. 'Although I like the violin lessons. Think you could teach him? You two could bond that way, some father-son time.'_

_'Sorry. I just don't want him to be in as much pain as I was as a teenager,' Sherlock said apologetically, hugging John tighter._

_'Of course I'll teach him. It would be an honour to pass on what skills I have to him.'_

_'Good. You two can start when he has the attention span to listen. Maybe play him something first and ask if he wants to try.' John nuzzled into Sherlock's chest and sighed. 'Thanks, love. I'm glad you're trying to be invested in our children's lives. Oh, speaking of which, you might not remember but Felicity somehow roped you into a tea party before dinner tonight. She made me write it on the calendar.'_

_Sherlock tried to hold back a smile but couldn't. 'Sounds like she has me wrapped around her finger.'_

_'We don't call her a princess for nothing,' John smiled. 'She's got a hold on us both, a very tight grip. And Benny, he's our little genius.'_

_Sherlock laughed in disbelief. 'I can't believe this, any of this. Children?' He shook his head, a small smile pulling at his lips._

_'Precious miracles,' John smiled. He pressed himself closer to Sherlock and hummed. 'Shall I give you your massage now, sir?'_

_'I thought you'd never ask,' Sherlock smirked._

_John sat up and grinned. 'Can you turn onto your stomach? Or do you need help?' he asked sweetly._

_Sherlock sighed heavily. 'I need your help.'_

_John frowned slightly but quickly turned it back into a smile. He slid down Sherlock's body and grasped his waist, turning him over as Sherlock turned his torso around. Sherlock made a pained grunting sound as he twisted awkwardly into position._

_John gazed upon his husband's back, noticing how pale and creamy it was. The scars had faded almost completely, like they were never there. It made John smile slightly to see such a horrid part of Sherlock's past nearly erased. He ran his hands from Sherlock's shoulders to the dip just above his arse, feeling for any knots. He found a couple in the middle of his back and worked in small circles to relax them._

_As Sherlock relaxed John reached into the side table drawer and pulled out the barely used tube of lube and the massage oil. He drizzled the oil in the small of Sherlock's back and his hands set to work massaging his husband's sore muscles._

_'Oh,' Sherlock groaned into the mattress. 'Oh god, oh fuck, oh my, John.'_

_He felt John's fingers working a magic spell on his muscles. That sensation was making him more vocal than he'd ever been, even during sex. John hummed, his hands continuing to turn Sherlock's muscles into a pliant mess._

_'Do you feel good, sir?' he practically purred, leaning on his hands to press harder on the muscles._

_Sherlock nodded. 'This is fantastic! Oh god, John. I love you so much right now.' John flushed at the praise, puffing up slightly like a peacock._

_'I love you too,' he purred, leaning down to nip at the base of Sherlock's neck, hands still pressed to the small of his back._

_'I like it when you're vocal, sir,' he said against Sherlock's neck. 'Keep talking, please.'_

_'Mmm. Your fingers are brilliant. I love you. Oh fuck.' He started to arch into John's touch._

_John rut his hips slowly against Sherlock's bum, his clothed erection sliding between his cheeks._

_'I know how you feel, sir,' he whispered seductively. 'Oh fuck, indeed.'_

_Sherlock screamed against the covers. 'Yes! Please, just please.'_

_'You're very loud today, sir,' John mused. 'I like it.' He sat on his haunches and grabbed the lube, slicking his fingers before swirling them around Sherlock's already open entrance._

_'Just to make things more comfortable,' he explained, sliding two fingers inside easily. Sherlock screamed again, whimpering and vibrating manically as John filled him._

_'So eager, sir,' John purred. 'I won't keep you waiting then.' He pulled his trousers off with his free hand, keeping his other inside Sherlock._

_'On your knees, sir. Legs spread,' he instructed, moving his fingers teasingly. Sherlock tilted his bum upwards and pushed himself up to his knees, his back slightly better now._

_'Good job, sir,' John praised, running his free hand down Sherlock's cheek and squeezing. He removed his fingers and slicked up his cock, positioning the head at Sherlock's hole. 'Are you ready for me?'_

_Sherlock exhaled shakily. 'Yes, ready and waiting.'_

_John eased himself inside, letting Sherlock feel everything as he entered. Sherlock grunted and began rocking against John._

_'Pound yourself into me, John,' he pleaded._

_'Yes sir,' John readily agreed. He pulled out and slammed back in with a slap. He moaned and did it again, thrusting quick and hard, pounding Sherlock into the mattress._

_Sherlock couldn't fight the urge to scream once more. 'Oh, fuck me!'_

_'Yes! Yes!' John cried, wrapping an arm around Sherlock's waist to hold him steady as he fucked him harder._

_'I love you!' Sherlock hollered, nearly over the edge. John's scream was his reply, moving faster to bring Sherlock over the edge before he did. His free hand grasped Sherlock's cock and stroked quickly, wanting to feel him pulse in his hand. Sherlock felt his stomach do a flip and his heart speed up._

_'Oh yes!' he groaned in a husky voice. John's breath hitched and his hips slammed firmly against Sherlock's._

_'Gonna... Gonna cum, sir,' he groaned, thrusting harder and wanking Sherlock faster._

_'Cum, now!' Sherlock roared, determined to only cum if John did. John buried himself fully in Sherlock's arse and screamed as he came deep inside, shuddering at the force of his third orgasm in nearly two hours. Sherlock trembled with the force rocketing through him and felt John drag him over the edge. John continued to move his hips as Sherlock came, hoping to prolong their orgasms as long as possible. He whimpered as he moved, continuing to cum, his cock extra sensitive._

_Their joint orgasm seemed to last for hours. When they did stop coming at last Sherlock collapsed, bringing John down on top of him with a loud smack. John's body was shaking from the force of his orgasm. He landed on Sherlock with a harsh slap when they finally collapsed. John took in deep, shaky breaths to bring himself down from his post-orgasmic haze._

_'Oh, fuck,' he breathed. 'Fuck.'_

_'Someone was a little sexually frustrated,' Sherlock giggled against the mattress._

_'Two months of nothing would definitely sexually frustrate me,' John panted, his limbs still too weak to move. 'But fuck that was incredible.'_

_'As always, John, as always.' Sherlock huffed a laugh. 'We make quite the team.'_

_'Yeah, we certainly do.' John hummed and nuzzled his cheek against Sherlock's shoulder blade. 'I love you.'_

_'The feeling is completely mutual,' Sherlock groaned. 'But could you please remove yourself from my arse? You're making me hard again and we've already had three orgasms. I don't know whether I could go for another one.'_

_'Yeah, yeah, sorry,' John groaned, pulling out and flopping on his back next to Sherlock. 'My stamina isn't what it used to be, but maybe we could go again once more before the kids come home?'_

_Sherlock turned his face to grin at John. 'Four times? Blimey, John! Two months sex free and then four orgasms in one go?'_

_'Hey, I deserve those orgasms!' John retorted._

_'I never said you didn't. I'm just thinking about how dead beat you'll be after a fourth one.' Sherlock dragged himself onto John. 'After all, we're not teenagers.'_

_'I know, but I want to feel that exhaustion,' John smiled softly, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's waist. 'I haven't in quite some time. And I want that feeling again.'_

_'It's not my fault Mycroft took the silencer,' Sherlock cursed. 'If it were up to me I would fuck you every day._

_'How dare he think I would use it against our children!' he exclaimed angrily. 'I'm not cruel for god's sake!'_

_'We can demand he give it back when he and Greg drop off the kids,' John smirked. 'What's a good threat we can use? You must have a fair amount stored up after the years.'_

_Sherlock twitched above John in fury. 'I'm sure you wouldn't approve of anything I want to say to him.'_

_'With that attitude I probably wouldn't, no,' John frowned. 'Could you build another one perhaps? What stopped you from doing it before?'_

_'How should I know? I can't remember anything.' Sherlock continued to shake in anger. 'I hate him, you know? He's always doubted me. Always seen the worst in me. And after all those years crying in the dark alone did he really think I would allow that to happen to my own bloody children!'_

_'Shh, love, shh,' John whispered, rubbing soothing circles on Sherlock's shoulders. 'He had selfish and stupid reasons for taking it away, and we'll get it back. He probably carries it on him all the time, like we used to after the dressing room.' He held Sherlock's face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs across his cheeks._

_'Fat git's too lazy to make one himself!' Sherlock exclaimed with a snarl._

_'Sherlock, calm down,' John said firmly, clutching his face tighter. 'It's okay. It will be ok. I'll get it back, I will. I promise. And then you can have your morning fuck every day, we can go out to_

_dinner and fuck in the bathroom stall for all I care.'_

_Despite John's words Sherlock couldn't bring himself to calm down. He closed his eyes, nostrils flaring in anger as his breathing quickened._

_'I don't care about the fucking. I don't. I really don't. It's just the fact that he had the audacity to make such an opinion of me.'Despite everything, my brother's opinion does matter to me a lot. I would have taken it to heart and believed it to be true. That I was going to be a cruel father. I still do. So do not tell me to calm down!'_

_John glared up at Sherlock._

_'I went through this already when he took it away,' he ground out. 'So I'm going to tell you what I told you then. Mycroft did not take it away because he thought you would be a bad father; he took it so you would grow accustomed to hearing the baby cry in the middle of the night, adapting to the new situation. He wanted you to be invested in your child's life, learn what to do that would calm her down, entertain her, be everything your father wasn't. He wanted you to learn and adapt and be a proper father so that you wouldn't become yours._

_'And now that Felicity is almost nine and Benny is five, I think we've reached the point where they aren't always going to be randomly waking up in the middle of the night needing to be fed or burped or changed. Benny wakes up before seven a.m. like clockwork, always having some sort of bizarre dream that he has to tell me about. But he's been doing it less frequently, I think because of your violin playing. So we'll be able to use the silencer in the mornings before they wake up to get ready for school. So please, try to calm down. Please.'_

_Sherlock nodded. 'I'm sorry,' he sniffed. 'God I'm selfish. A selfish bastard.' A single teardrop slid down his cheek._

_'No, you're not,' John sighed, wiping away the lone tear from Sherlock's cheek. 'We'll get it back from him now that our sex life seems to be picking back up. He'll listen to me when I explain why we need it back. Even after all these years you two are still in a petty sibling rivalry.' He laughed softly, finding their relationship still funny after so long._

_'It's not petty! Far from it.' Sherlock retorted sharply._

_'Hey, calm down,' John glared. 'What's with the attitude?'_

_'I suppose he just brings out the worst in me. I'm sorry,' Sherlock exhaled._

_'He's a massive git,' John conceded. 'Especially for almost insinuating you would be a poor father. I think he feels the same way about himself, because he and Greg don't have kids. But he's so good to ours I wonder sometimes if he would be a different man if he had his own.'_

_Sherlock scoffed but nodded. 'He would. When I was a child he was a different man indeed.'_

_'Oh?' John asked curiously. 'What was he like, if you don't mind telling me?'_

_'He held me when I cried, shouted at my school bullies. He was kind, and gentle, and almost loving in a non-sentimental way. Of course, the latter would be different for his children,' Sherlock smiled fondly._

_'He sounds like he was a wonderful big brother,' John smiled softly. 'I'm glad he was there for you.' He turned to glance at the clock. He smirked when he saw it was only four._

_'We have an hour left, Sherlock,' he said, turning to look at him with lustful eyes. 'What do you say to one more round?'_

_'I was just about to suggest a round of angry sex. Might not work since you're not angry though.' Sherlock slid down John's body._

_'Then make me angry,' he growled, craning his neck to watch Sherlock's movements._

_Sherlock grinned. 'Oh, I will,' he promised, now hovering his mouth over John's erection but not touching it, just simply breathing hot and heavy onto it._

_John quivered in anticipation, his cock perking up and reaching for Sherlock's mouth._

_'Planning on sexually frustrating me?' he asked breathlessly. Sherlock closed his mouth, not answering. Dipping his fingers in lube he danced them around John's entrance. John groaned and watched Sherlock intently._

_'I'm already sexually frustrated,' he stated, panting. 'So how are you going to make me angry? Am I going to have to beg?' Sherlock shook his head._

_'Beg for what John?' he asked innocently._

_'For you to **touch** me,' John ground out, subtly moving his hips closer to Sherlock's fingers. Sherlock moved his hands to wrap around John's cock._

_'Better?' he questioned. John moaned and smiled, his head falling back against the pillows._

_'Much,' he sighed. Sherlock squeezed his hands round John's cock hard._

_'I suggest you get almighty pissed off with me before I give you my cock.' John grinned up at the ceiling._

_'Then make me angry,' he retorted. 'By whatever means necessary.' Sherlock lunged forward and began kissing John viciously, sucking his lips into his mouth. His hands moved from John's cock to slap his arse forcefully._

_'Gah!' John yelped, his arse stinging. He groaned and clasped Sherlock's head in his hands, kissing him sloppily as Sherlock was trying to basically eat his lips. Sherlock growled and slapped John's arse cheeks harder. He grabbed hold of John's chin and began to suck in John's lips more forcefully. John hissed at the sting of flesh slapping flesh. Well, he hissed as best he could with his lips being sucked into Sherlock's mouth. He rocked his hips, egging Sherlock on. His eyes rolled back in his head when Sherlock slapped him harder, moaning at the harsh contact. Sherlock pulled his lips away and began nipping at John's neck._

_'Cock?' he asked, his voice low and gravelly. He slapped John's arse extra hard now._

_'God yes,' John breathed, his arse arching away from Sherlock's hands. 'Fuck me.' Sherlock placed himself in position and without hesitation pushed himself inside. He sat there for a moment, eyes closed, imagining himself growing to the point of it being agonising for John._

_Then John yelped in pain._

_John moaned and grit his teeth, his head arching back into the pillows. Oh, Sherlock always felt fucking fantastic up his arse. Goddamn perfect even. His brow knitted in discomfort as he felt he was being stretched further, but Sherlock was balls deep in his arse. How was that possible? He felt too tight, Sherlock was too big, it hurt and it was quite uncomfortable. He yelped in pain, trying to ease the stretching and tearing feeling in his arse._

_Sherlock snapped his eyes open and pulled himself almost all the way out, glancing at John in shock before turning his eyes to his cock. He gasped as he saw how massively engorged he was._

_'Good god,' he mumbled. 'Are you okay to continue?' he asked John gently._

_'Yes, yes,' he panted, leaning up on his elbows. 'God, it looks like you took the Viagra drug again. It wasn't in the chocolate spread again, was it? No, I don't care. Just fuck me good and hard before the kids get home. Please, Sherlock. Please.' Sherlock grabbed John and pulled him so he was sat flush against him. He wriggled himself back in with a great amount of difficulty._

_'I haven't ingested any drug, John,' he said with a frown but began to make hard love to the man despite his confusion. His cock throbbed in protest of being squeezed into such a tight spot and he groaned loudly as pleasure and pain began to blur together._

_'Gah! Fuck!' John spat, bracing his feet on the bed and meeting Sherlock thrust for thrust as best he could. 'Faster!' he demanded. 'Harder!' Sherlock forced himself to pound harder and faster. His cock throbbed harder and he threw back his head, hardly able to comprehend what was going on with his body._

_'That's it, Sherlock. Yes!' John cried, his hands fisting the sheets tightly. 'Yes, yes! Fuck me! Oh, god!' It was hard and fast and hot and tight and John had never felt so much pleasure before in his life. He pushed back on Sherlock's cock hard with each thrust, drawing moans from both their lips._

_'Close, close. Oh, god. Fuck me!' he cried, his back almost arching off the bed. Sherlock, though exhausted beyond belief, began to make love furiously fast and hard to John. He grunted and groaned as he pushed John closer and closer. John's eyes snapped open suddenly, his hands grasping Sherlock's hips tightly._

_'Sherlock, look at me,' he demanded. 'I want to see you. All of you. I want to see the emotions in your eyes, the ones you still have trouble expressing with your face.' Sherlock flickered his eyes open and fixed a penetrating look on John. 'I love you' was written in them plain and clear. John tried to put all the love and devotion and adoration he had for Sherlock in his eyes. As he stared into Sherlock's he saw love, then lust, and so much more. His breath hitched as Sherlock pounded into him, one hand going from his hip to his bicep and squeezing hard. He whimpered, the noise growing in volume and intensity as he neared his fourth release in five hours. He desperately needed to be touched though, and he hoped the desperation in his eyes told Sherlock exactly what he wanted him to do._

_Sherlock grabbed John's cock. 'Is this what you want, Jonathan?' he whispered, his voice deep and dangerous. His thrusts became erratic as he drove John to his fourth release, wanking him all the while._

_'Yes, yes, yes, yes!' John chanted, his voice becoming louder as he toppled over the edge. He pulsed in Sherlock's hand, cumming hard over his stomach and Sherlock's chest. His eyes fluttered closed and he threw his head back against the pillows, screaming in ecstasy. Sherlock felt himself explode within John, shooting his seed deep within his lover. He was panting like a deranged animal rather than a human being and he collapsed in a nearly unconscious state whilst still completely emerged within John. John lay still, collecting his ragged breath as he came down from his high. Jesus Christ. Even after three previous orgasms the fourth was still quite powerful. Maybe he wasn't so old after all. He still couldn't speak, so he drew the word 'fantastic' in Gallifreyan on Sherlock's bicep. Sherlock smiled sleepily and lazily wrote back to John, 'Obviously.' He still lay there short of breath and unable to move and his nose twitched and wrinkled up as a surprisingly loud snore like sound escaped it. John giggled drunkenly, still riding the post-orgasm high._

_'What... What was that?' he asked between breaths. Sherlock snuggled John and made the same noise again, melding into his warmth, half asleep. John nudged his shoulder, jostling Sherlock so he wouldn't fall asleep._

_'Hey. Hey, 'Lock,' he said. 'Hey, you can't fall asleep yet. We should take a shower, get dressed and presentable before the kids come home. Plus, we'd never hear the end of it if Mycroft found out just how many times we did the deed in five hours.'_

_'Make me,' Sherlock said through another snore. He was still fully seated within John and gave a little wiggle backwards before gently driving forwards. He laughed internally as he heard John's heart pick up once more. Even after four releases John was becoming aroused. John moaned and wriggled back on his husband's cock. Oh sweet Jesus, Mary, and Joseph that felt good. He moved his hips again and whimpered. Jesus, where had the stamina of a teenager come from all of a sudden? John didn't care. He just knew he wanted it, needed it desperately. And the time constraint made it all the more exciting. He gripped Sherlock's shoulders and flipped their positions, Sherlock landing on his back with a soft chuckle._

_'You want me to wake you up?' John smirked, moving his hips over Sherlock's. 'I'll bloody well wake you up.'_

_'Will you now, dear?' Sherlock questioned, bucking upwards beneath John, a sly grin plastering his features._

_'It's working, isn't it?' John grinned, rocking on Sherlock's cock slowly and torturously. As he felt them both harden rather quickly he moved faster, up and down, back and forth, teasing them both. He let out a high pitched whimper as he neared his fifth release in just as many hours._

_'Yes, yes!' John cried despite his best intentions. He moved quickly, impaling himself on Sherlock's cock, his legs shuddering from the exertion and pleasure. 'So close, love. So close! Don't stop! Don't stop! Don't stop!'_

_Sherlock cracked one eye open. 'If only you could see your nearly cumming face, John.' He gasped for breath, bucking again, harder and more insistently. 'Oh god!' He froze and tensed as he felt a heart stopping orgasm almost knock the wind out of him and he came for the fifth time, almost painfully this time around. John shuddered as he felt Sherlock cum deep inside him, moving faster to bring himself over the edge. He came almost painfully with a sharp cry, sitting fully on Sherlock's cock as his own spurted cum across Sherlock's torso. He moved his hips subtly as he came, drawing out his pleasure as long as possible. When he finally stopped cumming he fell backwards over Sherlock's legs, his husband's prick still up his arse._

_Sherlock laughed and slowly pulled himself out of John. He glanced at the clock and his breath hitched. 'We have ten minutes to get ourselves looking like we haven't just fucked five times over.'_

_John was out of bed like a shot, urging Sherlock to do the same._

_'Come on, up, up,' he instructed. 'Even if we just rinse ourselves off in the shower it's better than nothing.'_

_Sherlock hopped off the bed and struggled to his feet, walking on wobbly legs to the bathroom. John lead the way to the shower, turning the water on and stepping inside. The water was cold. Perfect. He scrubbed at his face and torso, turning around to let the cold water cascade down his back and tingly arse. He felt Sherlock climb in behind him, the water stopping as it fell down Sherlock's body. He hummed and pressed himself against Sherlock's torso._

_'I'm going to pick out your clothes,' he hummed softly, his head resting under Sherlock's chin. 'Can you clean yourself quickly and meet me on the stairs after you're dressed?' Sherlock placed a brief kiss on the base of John's head and nodded._

_'I'll be with you in a jiffy,' he promised softly._

_'See you soon,' John hummed, stepping out of the shower and drying himself off. He padded out to the bedroom and hastily pulled on a t-shirt and his cream jumper, pants and blue jeans following soon after. He set out Sherlock's dress trousers and purple shirt on the bed and smiled. So many memories flooded into his mind. He took a deep breath and sighed, moving to the stairs to keep a lookout for the kids and Mycroft. Sherlock scrubbed at his skin frantically, trying to rid himself of the smell of sex and sweat. He sighed softly as the water cleansed his skin. Turning around he switched off the water and ambled out of the shower. He shook himself like a dog, sending tiny droplets everywhere before hurrying into the bedroom._

_He was quick to get dressed and walk out to the landing. He smiled at John and skipped down the stairs, missing every two steps and almost tripping up several times. John laughed at the sight, following Sherlock downstairs and to the kitchen. He rifled through the fridge and pulled out the chicken and vegetables he had bought for dinner. He set them out on the island and smiled over at Sherlock. A car suddenly pulled into the driveway and John grinned. Perfect timing. He pecked Sherlock on the lips and laughed._

_'Love you,' he whispered._

_'I love you too,' Sherlock grinned despite his apprehension to meet his and John's children properly. The door opened and slammed against the wall, Felicity bounding inside with Benny close behind._

_'Daddy! Daddy!' Felicity giggled. 'Uncle Mikey got me two ice creams today!'_

_'Me too!' Benny said, ambling in and removing his shoes as fast as possible._

_'He bought you two?' John mock scolded, his hands resting on his hips. 'Well I'll just have to have a little discussion with your uncle now, won't I?'_

_Sherlock glanced at the ground sadly. The children hadn't even acknowledged him. He didn't blame them but it still hurt. John glanced up at Sherlock and his heart constricted. He could see the hurt on his face and his lower lip trembled slightly. He crouched down to Felicity's level and took hold of her hands._

_'Princess, Father has had a sad day. Why don't you have your tea party early and cheer him up?'_

_'Ok Daddy,' she smiled. She let go of John's hands and went to grasp one of Sherlock's in both of hers. 'Come on Father! The tea's not gonna make itself. And we can't keep Beary waiting.' She pulled on his hand and gestured to her room, a wide smile on her face. Sherlock blinked in surprise as two tiny hands clutched his. He grinned like an idiot at Felicity. His heart started to tingle with warmth. The same kind of warmth John made him feel. She was definitely John's daughter._

_'Lead the way, Princess,' he replied gently. Felicity smiled and lead her father to her room, sitting him on her princess bed. She set up the tea table and sat her stuffed animals in the chairs, her favourite bear sitting at the head of the table. She pulled her father off her bed and sat him on the floor at the table. She sat herself on his lap and poured the imaginary tea, handing him a cup before she poured for her animals._

_John scooped Benny into his arms and walked to the door, holding it open as Mycroft and Greg ambled inside._

_'Hello, boys,' John smiled. 'And how was the ice cream trip today? Other than buying my kids two, that is.' He scowled slightly and laughed, ushering them inside to the kitchen and closing the door. He put Benny in his seat and moved to wash the chicken for dinner._

_'You're beautiful,' Sherlock smiled, wrapping one arm around Felicity whilst using the other to sip at the imaginary tea. The whole parenting thing came remarkably easy to him._

_'Thanks, Father.' She gave him a toothy grin. _

_He laughed. 'So do we have anything to eat at this tea party, princess?' he asked._

_'I could ask Daddy for some cookies,' she said with a small laugh. _

_'Yes. Tell you what, I will go get some. Be back in a minute.' He lifted Felicity off his lap and onto the floor._

_'You always say that,' Felicity frowned._

_'I mean it this time,' Sherlock stated sorrowfully before heading out to get some cookies._

_Before you say anything Mycroft,' John interrupted the smug looking man. 'Yes, the dry spell is over. **And** I want the silencer back.' The elder Holmes smirked cheekily at him._

_'That, my dear John, is not going to happen.'_

_'Oh? And why's that? Because you still think Sherlock will use it to silence his children? Such a strong vote of confidence you have in your younger brother. Or is it because you and Greg are enjoying it a bit too much?' He glanced over at Greg who blushed and turned away._

_'I want it back,' John growled._

_'No, and not for any of those reasons. Mostly,' Mycroft frowned. 'You aren't getting it back because I heard from your darling little Felicity that Sherlock walked into the kitchen stark naked this morning. Now why should I reward him for such bad behaviour?'_

_'Nakie!' Ben smiled. John shushed him and turned back to Mycroft. But before he could say anything Sherlock walked back into the kitchen, a scowl on his face._

_'That was a misunderstanding, brother,' Sherlock grit out as politely as he could, quite aware that little ears were in hearing distance._

_'How on earth could traipsing around the house naked be a misunderstanding?' Mycroft asked._

_'Nakie!' Ben said again, giggling. John shushed him but he continued to giggle._

_'I don't have to explain myself to you.' Sherlock's jaw locked. He turned to John. 'Can Felicity and I have some cookies?' he asked._

_'Of course,' John nodded, searching through the cupboards until he found a packet of Oreos. He handed them to Sherlock but not before he saw Mycroft slap Sherlock upside the head._

_'What were you thinking?' the elder Holmes hissed. 'You could have ruined your children's innocence! What kind of a father are you?'_

_Sherlock's head spun as Mycroft roughly hit him across the head. He flinched away from the hit and trembled as Mycroft hissed the harsh words down his ear. In that moment all he could see was his father, not his brother. His eyes filled with tears and his legs felt like jelly beneath him. He wanted to say so many nasty things in that moment. He wanted to poke fun at Mycroft's belly straining beneath his three piece suit. He wanted to yell, to push Mycroft away and scream that it wasn't his fault. Instead his lower lip trembled helplessly and his throat closed up. He clutched the packet of Oreos in his hand tightly and hurried away back to Felicity's room. He sat down next the nine year old and passed her the packet._

_'Here you go, Princess,' he choked. _

_Felicity looked troubled and almost instantly wrapped her arms around Sherlock, hugging him tightly. 'What's wrong, Father? Why are you sad?'_

_'I had an argument with your uncle,' Sherlock replied, beginning to sob. It hadn't been an argument because there was nothing to argue about. What kind of father was he indeed? A bloody terrible one was the answer._

_'Don't cry, Father.' Felicity reached up with a tiny finger and wiped some of his falling tears away._

_John was fuming. He glared at Mycroft, his entire body shaking. There were so many foul words he wanted to say but with Benny still in the room he held his tongue._

_'Greg, take Benny to the living room,' he said as politely as he could manage. 'Myc and I need to have a chat.' Greg nodded, grabbing Ben out of his chair and started talking to him as he left for the living room. As soon as they were out of earshot John turned sharply to Mycroft and socked him across the jaw without warning._

_'What the bloody hell is wrong with you?' he demanded. 'Do you have any idea how much you've hurt him?'_

_'All I did was hit him across the head,' Mycroft groaned, wiping blood off his chin._

_'No, you told him he was a bad father,' John growled. 'Do you not know how he lives in constant fear of turning into your father? Do you know how much it hurts to be around children and worry about saying or doing the wrong thing and having them resent you forever? And on top of that Sherlock's memory has been acting up again. My personal opinion is dementia. Because the last thing he could remember was our wedding night. So you don't know a damn thing about what's going on in Sherlock's head and how much he hangs on your every word. Even after everything he still believes every word you say about him, and if you say he's a bad father he's going to believe it.'_

_Mycroft was speechless. His brother was having memory problems? He forgot everything between his wedding and today? He couldn't remember his children? The house? His and Greg's wedding?_

_'John, I–' _

_'Save it,' John interrupted. 'Don't tell me, tell your brother. Or if you're too proud to do it then bugger off.'_

_Mycroft stood and wiped his jaw again, his eyes full of sorrow. 'I realise you think lowly of me but I would never leave my brother in such inner turmoil.' He looked down at John and hung his head. 'I'll go talk to him. Where did he go?'_

_'Felicity's room,' John glowered. 'They had a tea party today. Be nice. Don't let her overhear.'_

_'Of course,' Mycroft nodded solemnly, heading off to Felicity's room._

_Felicity and Sherlock were still hugging each other tightly. Tears still dripped from his eyes but his sobs were silent now._

_He heard the door open and footsteps close in. His brother's footsteps to be exact. He raised his head and glared at Mycroft. Felicity turned to the elder Holmes and fixed a similar glare upon him._

_'Why did you make Father so sad?' she asked, frowning._

_Mycroft would have laughed at the sight of her little scowl, so much like Sherlock's, but the current situation did not call for laughter._

_'I apologise, Felicity,' he began. 'I did not mean to make your father sad. But I came to apologise to him, and I was wondering if you would be a good girl and go and talk with Uncle Greg while your father and I talk?'_

_The little girl continued to glare at him but nodded curtly. She hugged Sherlock close again, her small fingers playing with his hair._

_'It will be alright, Father,' she whispered softly. 'I'll be back soon and I'll give you another hug and then you won't be sad anymore and we can have more tea.'_

_Sherlock's entire body shook as Felicity left and his brother took a step towards him. He curled his knees to his chest and turned his face away from Mycroft, terrified of being hit once more, and preparing himself for more harsh words._

_'Oh, Sherlock,' Mycroft sighed, taking a seat on Felicity's bed. 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't realise...' He paused, studying Sherlock's protective form. Mycroft's heart broke. John had been right, about everything. His breath caught in his throat at the thought._

_'I'm so sorry,' he said again, his voice strained. 'I didn't realise, didn't notice, I'm so sorry. John, he told me what happened, what's happening to you. If I had known I wouldn't have said those words, or hit you the way I did. I'm so sorry. I don't think you're a bad father, you're wonderful. Just the fact that you're sitting here in your daughter's room participating in an imaginary tea party is proof of that. Please forgive me for my harsh words and actions.'_

_Sherlock shook his head, 'Save it Mycroft.' His breath came out in short, sharp, spurts. 'I'm only here because John told me I am a distant figure in their lives. You see the children more than me for fuck's sake!' he exclaimed. 'I paraded around naked in front of them! I can't remember them. You were right. What sort of father am I?'_

_'You were the one who agreed to the tea party,' Mycroft pointed out. 'Felicity was telling me all about it, how you had looked down at her and smiled and said, "Yes, of course. Anything for my little princess." That doesn't sound like a distant father to me._

_'And just because you can't remember them doesn't make you a bad father,' he continued. 'I don't believe you would purposefully delete them from your mind palace. You are not that cruel, especially towards your own flesh and blood, the few people you allowed into your heart. You didn't delete John. He had been taken from you but you brought him back. I'm confident you can do the same with your children.'_

_Sherlock chewed on his lip anxiously. 'There's something different this time, Mycroft. With John it was Moriarty who wiped my memories clean. With my children my mind is crumbling by itself.'_

_He closed his eyes. 'I saw him, you know?' he said, trying to steer the subject away from his memory loss. 'When you hit me. I saw him.'_

_'You saw...' Mycroft froze. No. 'Oh. Oh Sherlock I'm so sorry. I didn't... I'm sorry.'_

_'Didn't what, Mycroft? Didn't think? Thought you could hit me because you wanted to punish me? Just like him,' Sherlock snarled._

_'I seem to be doing that a lot recently. Not thinking,' Mycroft sighed morosely. 'I haven't exactly been myself either, as you can probably tell. Irritable, mood swings, the constant eating. And now add not thinking to the list. I apologise for hurting you, for being an idiot, and I hope... Well, I know you won't forgive me, but do you think we might be able to leave on better terms?'_

_Sherlock glanced at Mycroft worriedly, his bitterness washing away for the time being. 'What's wrong, Mycroft? Keep it short and to the point and don't bother lying to me. You're not ... going back to your ways are you?' he swallowed thickly._

_'No, nothing like that,' Mycroft assured him. 'I just... I think... I think it's bipolar syndrome. Father had it and it seems he's passed it on to me.'_

_Sherlock sat up, immediately alert. 'I see we're both fucked up at the moment.' His brow knitted together. 'Dear brother, you need to get yourself some help.' He reached up and placed a hand over the elder Holmes' hands. 'You're not okay." Sherlock snorted. 'And neither am I._

_'And to think I accused you of being like him.' He sighed heavily. 'I'm going to say something I don't usually say. I was wrong.'_

_Mycroft looked down at Sherlock's hands on his, trying to hold back his emotions._

_'I'm scared,' he admitted. 'Not for myself but for Gregory and your children. What if I fly off the handle around them? I don't want to hurt them. And if I get help then Gregory will surely know and... What if he leaves me? I couldn't bear to lose him. He's too important.'_

_Sherlock stood to his feet, sitting next to his brother, pulling him into a hug. 'He loves you. He would understand. I'm in a similar position. I'm going to the doctor's tomorrow.' He tapped his skull. 'Because I have something wrong with my mind. You should come too,' he suggested. 'And tell Greg. I'll be there right by your side when you do._

_'Jesus, John has corrupted me. Look how soft I've become.' Sherlock squeezed Mycroft._

_Mycroft nodded, hugging his little brother tightly._

_'I'll go with you, of course,' he agreed. 'And... when I'm ready to tell Gregory I will. I just want a proper diagnosis first. I don't want to be going off a hunch.'_

_He smiled fondly. 'Soft suits you brother. You are a far better man than I ever could have imagined you'd become. I'm proud of you.'_

_Sherlock chuckled. 'Never thought I'd live to hear those words from you. I'm not sure I deserve them however.'_

_He eased backwards and smiled. 'In the meantime ease up on all the pies and cake, Mycroft. If you feel the need to stuff yourself silly try something healthier. Grapes maybe? I also need to ask a few favours of you. If that is quite alright.'_

_Mycroft blushed and glanced down at his stomach._

_'The cake helps, it really does,' he sighed. 'But I know I need to ease off.' He glanced up at Sherlock. 'What kind of favours do you need?'_

_'I firstly need my violin that I had as a child. I promised John I'd teach Ben how to play. Can you fetch it for me, please?' Sherlock requested._

_'And secondly I need you to promise me something.' Sherlock began to shake again. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes once more._

_'Of course,' Mycroft smiled. 'He never stops talking about your playing.' His brows knit in concern when Sherlock paused though. 'What else do you need?'_

_'I need you to stop me if I become a danger to them. John and the children. I fear I am slowly losing my mind, and with it I will either lash out or...' He shrugged. 'I don't know anymore, Mycroft. I am so angry and confused at the moment._

_'My mind is deteriorating and I know in my heart this is only the start. I don't care what it takes to keep them safe. Lock me up if you feel it necessary. Can you do that? Keep my family safe?'_

_Mycroft visibly paled and swallowed._

_'Are you... I won't kill you. If it comes to that I flat out refuse. But, if I need to, I will do whatever I deem necessary to keep your family safe. But I refuse to kill you.'_

_'I wouldn't blame you if you go down that road. My mind is all I have, Mycroft. If it deteriorates completely I don't know what I'll do. Is it really worth clinging onto me when you know I'll be in utter misery? Have you really become so sentimental?' Sherlock locked eyes with his brother._

_'Promise me that you'll make the right decision. Promise. Promise now Mycroft because there may come a day when I look at you and I don't know who you are.'_

_'I won't be the one to kill you. I refuse,' Mycroft stated, shaking his head. 'But I don't doubt that John would assist you. But I will promise to protect your family should your mind deteriorate to the point you are a danger to them and yourself._

_'And call me stupidly sentimental all you want, but you are my baby brother and I couldn't bear to see you in any sort of pain. You are the only family I have left, Sherlock. And I will protect you until the end of my days.'_

_Sherlock felt a pang strike his heart. 'Only family? Oh god, mother.' He tried to stop his tears but they were quick to run down his cheeks. He found himself clutching to Mycroft once more. Except this time he was the one in need of comforting._

_'I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry,' Mycroft sniffled. He held onto his brother tightly, a few stray tears falling down his cheeks._

_Sherlock shook against his brother, sobs ripping through him. 'It's not fair!' he yelled into Mycroft's chest._

_'No, it's not,' Mycroft agreed. He hugged his brother closer, rubbing soothing circles on his back._

_Sherlock's breathing became so erratic it was almost nonexistent. He felt light headed and his chest was constricting. He couldn't make sense of what was happening. Was this what a panic attack felt like?_

_'Can't breathe,' he choked, his voice barely a whisper._

_Mycroft paled and held his brother out at arm's length. 'Sherlock, Sherlock focus. Breathe. Come on, just breathe. Do you want me to get John? Please, just breathe.'_

_Breathe, yes, breathe. How do you breathe? He tried using his lungs but he found them rendered useless. His eyes widened in fright. 'My?' he gasped, turning bright red from lack of air._

_'John!' Mycroft shouted at the top of his lungs. The man in question could be heard barreling down the hall before he slammed open the door. His eyes were wide as he looked at Mycroft and a red faced Sherlock._

_John moved Mycroft out of the way, setting Sherlock down on Felicity's bed. He propped his legs up with a pillow before moving back to his head, tipping his head back to let air into his windpipe easier. He then plugged Sherlock's nose and opened his mouth, breathing a lungful of air into him. Sherlock spluttered in protest as John forced air into his lungs. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. He pushed John away._

_'I'm fine now,' he coughed loudly, trying to regain as much oxygen as possible._

_'You sure?' John asked. He held him tenderly by the shoulders, looking into his face for confirmation._

_'Certain of it,' Sherlock nodded, letting his eyes wander over to his deadly pale brother. 'Sorry if I scared you.'_

_Mycroft swallowed and nodded. 'Sorry for accusing you of being a bad father.' He stood awkwardly in the corner, shuffling his feet. 'You, um, should probably get back to spending time with Felicity. I know she was really looking forward to it. Sorry for interrupting.' He left hastily._

_John looked to Sherlock, sighing deeply. 'You alright? And not just from the panic attack. What caused that anyway?'_

_'It's not relevant,' Sherlock shrugged it off, frowning. 'Mycroft, go to him. He needs a friend right now.'_

_'He has Greg,' John pointed out. 'But you should continue your tea party. I'll make dinner. Please don't let this mull around in your head for too long. Be here, in the present, with your daughter.'_

_Felicity came back into the room then, a smile on her face. 'Are you all better now, Father?' she asked. 'Or do you want a hug so you won't be sad anymore?'_

_'I could really do with a hug, Princess,' Sherlock said before turning to John briefly. 'Greg is too close to the situation. Please go to my brother. You'll find him in our bathroom stuffing his face I believe.'_

_Felicity bounded into Sherlock's arms, hugging him tight and burrowing her nose in his neck. 'Love you,' she said._

_John let them be, closing the door so they could have some privacy. Mycroft hiding in the loo? he asked himself. He shook his head and went to investigate. The downstairs bathroom was clear, but the one in their bedroom was locked. He knocked gently, not wanting to scare him._

_'Myc? You alright?' he asked._

_'Oh, Felicity,' Sherlock sighed and hugged his daughter to him. 'How about we get started on those biscuits?'_

_Felicity nodded into his chest. 'Okay Father,' she replied._

_John knocked on the bathroom door again._

_'Myc? Are you ok?'_

_'Go away, John.'_

_'No, Myc. I want to know what's going on. Now, put the cookies away and talk to me.' He heard Mycroft harrumph and the crinkle of plastic. The door opened slightly._

_'What do you want to know?' Mycroft asked softly._

_'Well, for starters, what caused Sherlock's panic attack?'_

_'I told him he was the only family I had left, inadvertently telling him that our mother had passed.'_

_'Oh,' John breathed. 'I never thought to mention that. I'm sorry.'_

_'It's alright,' Mycroft sighed._

_'Ok, well, what's going on with you? You seem off.'_

_'Bipolar disorder,' Mycroft answered bluntly. 'I think.'_

_'Oh. Oh, Myc. I'm sorry. So, you haven't been properly diagnosed?'_

_'Not yet, no. But my father had it and there's a very good probability I got it from him.'_

_'Oh. I wish I had more to say other than I'm sorry, but I am sorry. Does Greg know?'_

_'No. Not yet. I... I want Sherlock to be there when I do. He said he would be there when I did. But I'm not ready yet. I want a proper diagnosis first.'_

_'Ok. I understand. Why don't you come out of my bathroom, go to Greg, go home, make love, sleep? Do whatever you would normally do. Do what makes you happy. Ok?' Mycroft nodded, stepping out of the bathroom and out into the hall. When he got downstairs he peered into Felicity's room._

_She and Sherlock were having a very adamant conversation about fairies. Mycroft smiled at the adorable sight. He found Gregory in the living room, Ben sitting in his lap as they watched telly. The sight made him pause. Why had he and Greg never had children? The man was a wonderful father, and he had been very upfront about spending time with his own son from his previous marriage. But why had they never had one of their own? He honestly couldn't think of a legitimate excuse._

_'Gregory, we'll be going home soon. Say your goodbyes, ok?' Greg nodded, whispering something in Ben's ear that made him giggle loudly. He hugged the boy and brought him to Mycroft, who kissed his cheeks before he was handed back to John._

_'Thank you,' he whispered to him. 'You are a great friend indeed, John.'_

_'You are quite welcome, Myc,' John smiled. 'Thanks for watching over my kids. Just, next time, don't buy them two servings. Their teeth and bellies really don't need the extra sugar.'_

_'Of course,' the elder Holmes smiled. 'Goodbye, John. Ben.' He waved to the little boy as he and Greg left, leaving John in the kitchen with a toddler on his hip._

_'So, Benny, you wanna help Daddy make dinner?'_

_'No,' he smiled._

_'No?' John asked playfully._

_'No. I wanna watch,' the boy giggled._

_'Well then, you can watch,' John smiled, plopping the boy in his booster seat and pulling him closer to the island so he could watch his daddy prepare supper._

_'Which vegetable would be better? Green beans or carrots?' he asked, laughing as Benny's nose wrinkled up in distaste just like Sherlock's did._

_'No veggies,' the boy pouted. 'They're icky.'_

_'So fairy land is destroyed?' Felicity pouted sadly._

_'I'm afraid so,' Sherlock told her. 'But don't worry, the fairies are quite happy. Always having parties and eating roast meals.'_

_Felicity giggled, chewing on an Oreo. 'You're silly, Father.'_

_'Am I now?' he smirked, raising an eyebrow. _

_'Yes you are,' she nodded._

_Sherlock smiled fondly. 'Good. Never be serious, Felicity. At least never be knowingly serious.'_

_'Doctor Who!' she squealed._

_'Yes dear. Doctor Who. I see you're a fully bred Whovian,' he beamed from ear to ear._

_She nodded. 'Shhh, don't tell Daddy. He thinks I'm too young to watch it but you sometimes let me whilst he's out shopping.'_

_Sherlock chuckled. 'Well it can be rather scary.'_

_'I'm not a baby!' she huffed._

_'No. No, you're not. You're a princess,' he assured her._

_'Yay!' She clapped her tiny hands together. 'Is it makeup time?' she asked._

_'Makeup time?' he retorted in confusion._

_'Yes, Father,' she grinned, mischief spreading across her features. And then she got the lipstick, blush, and eye shadow out._

_'Veggies are icky, huh?' John smiled, grabbing a bag of mixed frozen vegetables from the freezer. Ben nodded, making a 'bleagh' sound at the vegetables in John's hand. 'Hmm... Well, if you won't eat the vegetables I'll peel you an apple. You like those at least.'_

_'Affles!' Benny smiled, his little legs kicking against his seat. 'You gonna make chick-chick now?'_

_'Yep. Daddy's gonna make chick-chick now,' John smiled, pulling the chicken from it's packet and setting it on the pan on the stove to cook. He grabbed an apple from the fruit basket and began peeling it, then chopping it into bite sized pieces for Benny to eat. He gave him a small handful to keep him occupied while he cooked the chicken and the vegetables._

_'What do you say if we watch some Doctor Who now?' Sherlock whispered softly once Felicity was done violating his face._

_'But Daddy is still here. He'll get mad at you,' she said in an almost whisper back._

_'That's a risk I'm willing to take, Princess.' He swooped her into his arms and she let out a small giggle. 'To the living room to see the most wonderful thing in the universe. Just our little secret, ok?'_

_'Ok, Father,' she nodded, pressing a finger to her lips._

_John was chopping the chicken into bits when he heard the telly turn on. He listened, hearing the tenth Doctor and the ever wonderful Donna Noble arguing about pockets and wedding dresses. He smiled, remembering how wonderful that show was. God, he missed it._

_'Santa's a robot,' he muttered under his breath when Donna did. He heard Sherlock do the same, as well as Felicity. No. No, no, no, no, no, no, no._

_'Sherlock,' he scowled, abandoning the chicken for a moment to stalk to the living room. 'Sherlock, what on earth are you–' He stopped dead in his tracks. Sherlock and Felicity were indeed watching Doctor Who, but Sherlock's face had been painted with a wide array of colourful powders. His eyes were a bright pink, his cheeks a deep red (from blush and actual blushing), and his lips were a vibrant share of costumey purple. Sherlock's face, despite the makeup, said, 'Do not ask and don't get mad.' So John didn't ask, and he didn't get mad. It was quite a sight, the two of them, spending time together like they were._

_John barely managed to stifle a giggle before saying, 'If she gets nightmares about giant red spiders tonight, you're going to be the one to console her when she wakes up.'_

_Sherlock rolled his eyes at John. 'She won't get nightmares, John.'_

_'Yeah, Daddy!' Felicity exclaimed, copying Sherlock's eye roll. 'I won't get nightmares. Only baby Benny gets nightmares.' John couldn't help but laugh. The two of them together were so adorable, and Sherlock's face was gorgeous to say the least._

_'Ok, you two enjoy your Doctor and Donna Noble. I'm going to finish dinner.'_

_'Will do,' Sherlock agreed, turning to face the TV once more, hugging Felicity tightly to him. John smiled, staring at the two of them. Father and daughter and Doctor Who. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He silently crept out of the room to grab the camera, taking a quick photo before returning to fixing dinner._

_The chicken was browning nicely and the vegetables were cooking, so John set the table. An apple piece hit his head and Benny laughed. John turned to him and shook his head._

_'No, Benny. We don't throw fruit at Daddy.' The little boy chucked another piece at him, full on laughing. 'Benny!'_

_'Trow affles at Daddy!'_

_'No, save your food,' John scolded. 'Because if you don't I'll make you eat the vegetables.' Benny made an 'ick' face and held on to the rest of his apple pieces, munching on them occasionally._

_'It's scary,' Felicity whispered as the biggest and reddest spider she had ever seen came onto the screen. _

_Sherlock clutched to her, trembling, face half hidden behind a pillow. 'I am in total agreement with you there, Princess.'_

_'Just a heads up, dinner is almost rea–' John froze in the doorway. Sherlock and Felicity were wrapped in a blanket, their faces covered, Felicity hugging Sherlock like she needed him in order to breathe. He glanced at the telly and saw what the blanket was about. He smiled softly and turned off the telly, a squeal of protest coming from the blanket._

_'Dinner's just about ready. Felicity, wash your hands. Sherlock...' the man's head popped out of the blankets to stare at him, almost begging him to continue. 'Keep the makeup. You look gorgeous, darling.' John grinned and walked back to the kitchen, spooning the vegetables into a bowl while the last of the chicken cooked._

_'See Father, I told you that you look pretty,' Felicity giggled. Sherlock shook his head, not entirely amused by being referred to as pretty._

_'Come on, time to wash your hands.' Sherlock swept her into his arms and began to carry her to the kitchen. John put the chicken on a plate and moved it to the table, setting the vegetables near it. He considered pouring himself and Sherlock glasses of wine but thought better of it. Save that for when the kids weren't around. So everyone got water except for Benny; he always got milk. Sherlock and Felicity entered then, Sherlock carrying her to the kitchen sink to wash her hands. John grabbed Benny and did the same, the siblings splashing each other and John and Sherlock laughing above them._

_'OK guys, time to eat. Then you can watch one movie before bed, alright?'_

_'Ok, Daddy,' Felicity smiled as Sherlock put her in her bright pink chair. John grabbed Benny's and moved it closer to him so he could keep an eye on him while he ate. He sat the boy in and put some chicken pieces and more bits of apple in front of him. The boy giggled and grabbed a piece of chicken, gnawing on it before trying to suck on it like the dinosaurs on the telly._

_Sherlock dug into his food rapidly, licking his lips, and making tiny hums of appreciation. The food was absolutely wonderful. He looked up as the children began to giggle._

_'What?' he asked through a mouthful of food. _

_'Fafer greedy,' Benny grinned toothily. _

_Felicity nodded. 'Daddy says you shouldn't eat your food so fact. It can give you indi– indi–'_

_'Indigestion?' Sherlock supplied. 'Hmm, I suppose I should eat my food slower.'_

_'Makes you fat!' Benny squealed before beginning to chant 'fat, fat, fat' over and over again. Sherlock swallowed and glanced down at his plate, suddenly not very hungry anymore._

_'Benny,' John scolded. 'Fat isn't a nice word. It hurts people's feelings. Look.' He pointed to Sherlock, how he was staring at his plate like it was diseased. 'You hurt Father's feelings. Father isn't fat, is he Benny?'_

_'No,' the boy said softly. 'Fafer not fat.'_

_'Here.' John stood and grabbed the boy from his chair, taking him to Sherlock. 'Tell Father you're sorry and give him a hug.'_

_'Sorry, Fafer,' the boy said, his little hands grasping for Sherlock's shirt. 'You not fat.'_

_Sherlock hugged Ben tightly. 'It's ok Benny. I forgive you.' He smiled at John, patting his son on the back. 'Now you better go eat your food.'_

_'Chick-chick,' the boy grinned, scrambling back into John's arms so he could return to his seat. He shoved a piece of chicken into his mouth before he had even sat down. Sherlock returned to eating, slower this time, and without the same eagerness as before. He toyed with his vegetables and only ate half the amount of chicken that had been laid out before him. He pushed his plate away and glared at it as though it was the most repulsive thing he'd ever seen._

_'Can you excuse me a minute?' he asked the question but got up to leave before John could reply._

_'Sherlock?' John called after him but he was already out of earshot._

_'Is Father having a sad day?' Felicity asked, softly._

_'Yes, sweetie, I believe he is,' John sighed._

_'I don't like it when Father's sad,' she said, poking her chicken with her fork. 'It makes me sad.'_

_'Me too, Princess. Me too.'_

_Sherlock sat hunched on his knees by his and John's bedroom toilet. Before he could really comprehend what he was doing he'd stuck a finger down his throat. He gagged and it wasn't long before everything he'd eaten, including his sandwich and the two packets of crisps he had earlier came spilling out. He stood to his feet, wiped the back of his hand against his mouth and flushed the toilet. He quickly sprayed some cologne to cover up the smell and drank a glass of cooling water. _

_He ambled warily back down to where his husband and children were sitting before reseating himself and picking up his knife and fork once more, eating what was left of his meal, feeling a lot less guilty about it sliding down his throat and into his now empty stomach._

_John's doctorly gaze swept over his husband. He'd heard the loo flush, but whether Sherlock actually used it properly had yet to be determined. When he ambled back to the dining room, legs shaky and face calmly composed, John narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He wasn't going to bring it up right then though, especially not in front of the kids. He ate his dinner in silence, the kids eating in relative silence as well. It was peaceful, and it worried John. Could the kids sense the seriousness of the situation?_

_As Sherlock finished his last bite he smiled at John. 'That was quite lovely, John. Thank you.' He hoped that his smile looked genuine but by the look on John's face he knew it didn't, and he was in for a lecture once the children were out of sight and earshot._

_Felicity poked at the last of her vegetables. She looked over at her father, her eyes sad. Why did Father have to be sad? He looked happy, he was smiling, but she could tell he was still sad. Why was Father sad? She looked over at her dad, his eyes looking the same as hers: sad, confused, and apprehensive. She sighed and pushed her plate away._

_'I'm done, Daddy,' she said. 'Can I take Baby Benny and we can get in our pj's and watch a movie?'_

_John eyed her plate before nodding. 'Go ahead, Princess.' Felicity slid out of her chair and grabbed Ben from his, carrying him to their room and closing the door. John turned his gaze to Sherlock, eyeing him._

_'I don't want to talk about this now, but I'm going to anyway,' he started. He pulled a small silver device from his pocket and clicked the button, the bubble forming around the table. 'Nicked it from Myc when I punched him earlier.'_

_Sherlock laughed. 'You sly bastard. You've learnt one or two tricks from me I see.'_

_'I learned from the best,' John half smiled. 'Now, what was with you leaving? I know what you did in the loo, all I want to know is why? Did Benny's words make you do that?'_

_'No,' Sherlock shook his head and closed his eyes in shame. 'It wasn't his words, at least it wasn't just his words.'_

_'Then what was it, 'Lock? Because you aren't fat. Trust me, you aren't. What's going on? Tell me, please.' John hoped he didn't sound like he was begging, but he knew he was._

_'I don't know why I did it,' Sherlock sighed heavily. 'I didn't even realise what I was doing until my fingers were down my throat.'_

_'God, Sherlock,' John choked out. 'Honey, I...' He stood slowly from his seat and walked to him. He collapsed to his knees and lay his head in Sherlock's lap. 'You're beautiful, love. You are, you are. Why can't you see what I see?'_

_'Don't you dare cry. Only one of us is allowed to shed tears at a time.' Sherlock patted John's back. 'I suppose I just don't like the fact that my children see me as fat. And that with everything else going on doing it felt so right.' He frowned. 'I can't see what you see in me. I just can't.'_

_'The kids don't see you as fat, love. Benny is five, he doesn't know that words can hurt people. And he's at that point where he repeats a lot of things. He didn't know what he was saying.' He buried his nose in Sherlock's lap and sighed._

_'You are gorgeous and handsome and I love you so very much,' he said softly._

_'I know, I know. I'm sorry, John,' Sherlock apologized, running a hand through John's mop. 'It was stupid and it won't happen again.'_

_'It better not,' John growled. 'Because the second it does I'm carting you off to a rehab facility whether you want to go or not.'_

_'Understood,' Sherlock grunted. He would have added more to that sentence but as it was John was growling at a close proximity to his crotch and he found that almighty distracting._

_'Naughty boy,' John smirked, nuzzling his nose in Sherlock's crotch. 'Very naughty indeed.'_

_'Again? Here?' Sherlock asked, wide eyed and groaning._

_'Yes, again,' John smirked, mouthing at Sherlock's clothed erection. 'But not here. Too open. The kids could walk by at any moment.' He looked up at Sherlock from beneath his lashes._

_'Clear the table like a good boy and I'll reward you later in bed,' he smirked._

_Sherlock rose to his feet instantly and hurriedly cleared the table and stacked the dirty dishes and glasses in the dishwasher._

_'Are we all watching a movie first?' he questioned. 'You better not tease me for that period.'_

_'Good boy,' John purred, rising to his feet. 'And yes, we'll be watching a movie. It's Benny's turn to pick, and he usually picks the cartoons, which are much shorter.' He walked over to Sherlock, wrapping his arms around his shoulders and pulling him in for a deep kiss. Sherlock continued to kiss John until he heard one small 'eww' noise from Benny and a fit of giggles from Felicity. He pulled away, turning a shocking shade of red._

_John blushed and cleared his throat. 'So, what do you want to watch tonight, Benny?'_

_'Are you happy now, Father?' Felicity interrupted. 'Since you were kissing Daddy? Are you happy now?'_

_Sherlock nodded curtly and grinned at Felicity. 'Very much so, princess. Very much so indeed.'_

_'Good,' she grinned. She grabbed his hand and held it tightly. 'I want to sit with you tonight.'_

_'Good idea, Princess,' John smiled, scooping Benny up. 'Now, Benny, what movie do you want to watch?'_

_'Threk!' the boy giggled._

_'Shrek it is,' John grinned, grabbing the DVD off the shelf. He popped it in to the telly's player and plopped down on the sofa, Benny in his lap. Sherlock sat next to him, Felicity clinging to his chest with the widest grin on her face._

_'You two are absolutely adorable,' John whispered to Sherlock as the movie started._

_'As are you two,' Sherlock whispered back, admiring the sight of his son and husband snuggled down with each other. John rested his head on Sherlock's shoulder, not really watching the movie as he was watching Sherlock and Felicity._

_Benny fell asleep halfway through, Felicity soon after. John stopped the movie and turned off the telly, gently standing so as not to wake Benny up. Sherlock did the same with Felicity and they made their way to their room. John put Benny in his new big boy bed, Sherlock put Felicity in her princess one. John kissed them both goodnight and moved to the door, lingering as Sherlock was still standing in the middle of the room._

_Sherlock couldn't take his eyes off of the two sleeping children, or rather didn't want to, refused to. He stood like an angelic figure gazing upon the tiny miracles, a guardian, their guardian, keeping them safe. _

_John smiled softly and approached Sherlock, hugging him from behind._

_'They'll be alright, love,' he whispered. 'Promise. We're right above them, and if they need us we'll hear.' He hugged Sherlock tight._

_'Will you come to bed with me now?'_

_Sherlock turned reluctantly away from the children. 'Okay,' he said dumbly, not wanting to leave the room but knowing he couldn't stay._

_'You can kiss them goodnight if you want,' John whispered._

_'Wouldn't want to wake them,' Sherlock replied under his breath._

_'They won't wake, love,' John whispered. 'They sleep pretty soundly.'_

_Sherlock nodded. 'Go. I'll be right up, dear.'_

_John nodded and kissed the back of Sherlock's neck. 'Don't be long, love,' he murmured in Sherlock's hair._

_'I won't be,' he promised._

_He watched as John left and firstly went to Benny to place a loving kiss on his cheek._

_He then approached Felicity's bedside to give her a kiss too. He was surprised to see her awake. 'Father?'_

_'Shhh,' he hushed her. 'Just came here to kiss you goodnight.' He leant over and did the same as he had done to his son. He felt the nine year old girl press something soft against him. Looking down he saw that it was the same bear from the tea party earlier._

_'I want you to have Beary,' she stated simply._

_'Oh, right, err–' He wasn't quite sure what to say. In the end he settled for a 'Thank you.'_

_'Beary will stop you getting sad in the night,' she explained._

_His heart broke. 'I'm with Daddy. I won't get sad.'_

_'I want you to have him anyway,' she said sleepily, closing her eyes._

_'Night, night, Princess,' he murmured, taking his leave. As he reached the doorway he heard her small voice._

_'Night, night, Father.'_

_John was sitting in bed reading **The Hobbit** for the umpteenth time when Sherlock walked in, Felicity's favourite bear in his arms._

_'She gave you Beary?' he smiled._

_Sherlock threw a guilty look at John. Still clutching to the teddy bear he quickly washed the makeup off of his face and began to strip from his clothes. He lay beside John, naked._

_'She said it was to stop me from getting sad in the night.' John smiled softly, setting his book to the side._

_'She's done it before. Given you Beary so you wouldn't be sad,' he said. 'She just wants her dads to be happy. Don't look so guilty. She loves you and wants you to be happy.'_

_'It still hurts that she is aware of my inner turmoil.' Sherlock clambered onto John's lap and melted his body into John's. _

_He shivered, feeling unbearably cold as he was naked and it was quite chilly, and neither he or John were underneath the covers yet. However, it wasn't just a physical sensation of cold he could feel, it was an emotional cold too. _

_'Am I sad often?' he questioned softly._

_'I wouldn't say sad. I'd say distant,' John said softly, wrapping his arms tenderly around Sherlock's frame. 'But your bees help, I think. They let you get out of your head for a while, and you always come back smiling after you've been tending them. So, no, I don't think you're sad, love.'_

_'I'm giving my bees up,' Sherlock stated, nuzzling John affectionately. 'I can't stand being distant in your lives.'_

_John gasped. 'But... But you love your bees,' he whispered._

_'Yes, but I can always pick up where I left off. Children tend to grow up fast, John. And you need me around,' Sherlock replied in a rather methodical tone of voice._

_'Alright, love. Alright,' John said softly, hugging Sherlock gently. 'When the kids get older and have maybe gone to uni we can get you another hive of bees.' He kissed the top of his husband's head._

_'I love you.'_

_'My thinking exactly.' **That is if I'm still stable when that time comes,** he heard a voice add. He shivered again and clutched at Beary in his hands. John felt Sherlock shiver and pulled the covers over them, holding Sherlock tight. He buried his nose in Sherlock's hair and inhaled deeply, all that was Sherlock filling his nostrils. He smiled and nuzzled him affectionately._

_'You know I would go for a sixth round,' he muttered sleepily. 'But as I was saying earlier, we're not teenagers anymore, John.'_

_'I wasn't trying to start anything, love,' John sighed in content. 'Truly, I wasn't. You just smell... wonderful and clean and like Sherlock. It's hard to describe.'_

_'That's a strange thing to say,' Sherlock chuckled. 'I smell like myself .. hmmm. I'd be a bit worried if I didn't.'_

_'Silly git,' John smiled. 'You know what I mean. Yes, you smell like yourself, but you smell like my Sherlock. Our scents have mingled for so long I can't smell you without smelling me on you. And that is a delicious smell indeed.'_

_'It's definitely delicious,' Sherlock purred, sniffing John's skin, inhaling their mixed scents greedily. John moaned softly and pressed his nose into Sherlock's neck, inhaling deeply and sighing happily._

_'These are the moments I live for, you know? The quiet days. The days where before you came along I felt so bored I didn't mind being reckless have been replaced by these moments with you. These quiet times with you are often the highlights of my days.'_

_'Mine too, love. They're beautiful moments and I cherish every one,' John smiled. He cupped Sherlock's face in his hands and pulled him in for a tender kiss. Sherlock leant his head on John's and exhaled._

_'Have you made an appointment for me yet?' he questioned softly._

_John nodded. 'I made it while I was making dinner. It's at ten, so we'll have time to drop the kids off and maybe grab a bite before.'_

_'Good,' Sherlock said tenderly. 'Because this is killing me on the inside. Knowing that I've lost so many precious memories.'_

_'We'll work it out,' John murmured. 'I've got a ton of photo albums we can thumb through. I always went overboard on the photos when the kids were younger. Guess that might be a good thing now.'_

_'I'm afraid, John,' he admitted. 'Afraid of losing my mind completely.'_

_'And I'm afraid of losing you,' John whispered._

_'At least you will have your memories of me. That might ease the pain slightly,' Sherlock mused. 'What will I have?'_

_'You'll have me,' John said. 'You'll always have me. Even if you can't remember me I'll be there for you. And, I think you'll have your bees too.'_

_'And all the while I will be putting you through so much emotional pain.' Sherlock brushed John's stubble with the tips of his fingers. 'And I am so sorry for that.'_

_'I've been through so much with you already,' John sniffed. 'I won't abandon you when you forget who I am. I won't. I refuse. No matter how much pain I may be going through I will still care for you. I swear.'_

_'I've arranged everything with Mycroft if I should take a dangerous route, because I may grow to be a danger to both myself, and you and the children. He'll sort everything out.' Sherlock ran his fingers up to John's watery eyes and trapped a tear under his thumb. 'I suppose he's not a completely hopeless excuse of a brother after all.'_

_John sniffled and buried his nose in Sherlock's curls. 'God, I don't want to think about that. You, losing so much of yourself that you become dangerous. Although I'm somewhat glad Mycroft has agreed to help, I still don't want to think of you in that way.'_

_'We have to be prepared, John. Who knows what the diagnosis will be?' Sherlock rolled his shoulders in a small shrugging gesture. 'It's likely to be quite bad though, isn't it?'_

_'It might be, yes. And it may take more than one visit to the doctor's. Sometimes we physicians can be stubborn and want to be absolutely sure before we deliver bad news.' John hugged Sherlock close, his forehead resting on his shoulder._

_'No matter the diagnosis, good, bad, or god awful, I'll be there for you. I love you too much to abandon you when you need me the most. And, if it is memory problems, I've already got a good idea of how to refresh your memory every day.'_

_'Oh, really?' Sherlock raised a curious eyebrow. 'Come on then, let's hear it.'_

_'Well, since I've taken so many photos of the kids' lives already, I was thinking I could put them in photo frames throughout the house. They'd be labeled with their names and how old they were and the date and whatnot. A timeline of sorts of their lives and ours.' John smiled softly. 'Starting with the day we met perhaps, some of our cases, our proposal and marriage, moving in here, everything. The photos will all be labeled properly, dates, names, events, et cetera. And you'll be able to follow our lives and our children's through a photo timeline. What do you think?'_

_'I think my genius has finally started to rub off on you,' Sherlock laughed cheekily. 'It's a very well thought out plan indeed.'_

_'Thanks, love,' John smiled. He placed a small kiss to Sherlock's temple._

_'Did my brother tell you he's coming tomorrow too?' Sherlock laughed again, this time with very little humour. 'Guess it's as it has always been. Both Holmes boys fucked up in the head, huh?'_

_'Yes, he told me he's coming, and shush. You aren't fucked up. If you were you wouldn't be laying naked on top of me.'_

_'I'm pretty fucked up, John, and so is Mycroft. No point denying it, is there?' Sherlock shifted on top of John._

_'I don't like thinking of you as "fucked up,"' John frowned. 'I don't like that term. Nor do I like "mentally unstable." I prefer... difficult. It's not as harsh or specific as the others.'_

_'Call it what you like, John. Doesn't stop me from being a mess,' Sherlock said, sadness dripping from his voice like acid. John sighed and cupped Sherlock's face in his hands again, forcing his husband to look at him._

_'Fucked up or not, I still love you and I always will.'_

_'And know in my heart, if not my mind, I will always carry a piece of you within me.' Sherlock smiled weakly, patting the spot on his chest just above his heart. John placed his hand over Sherlock's and squeezed gently._

_'I love you,' he stated simply._

_'I love you too, my dearest Watson,' he stated gleefully, kissing John's jaw line. John purred and tilted his jaw up, letting Sherlock reach more of his neck. Sherlock giggled and pressed more kisses to John's exposed neck._

_'Love you, love you, love you,' he chanted._

_'Mmm, I love you too. So much,' John moaned happily, arching into Sherlock's kisses. Sherlock grinned as an idea popped into his mind. He began moving his kisses further and further south until he was forced to duck beneath the covers. John gasped and moaned, his heart beating rapidly in his chest._

_'Avert your eyes, Beary,' he gasped, covering the bear's eyes with his hand. Sherlock chuckled and scrambled further down and placed a delicate kiss right above where he knew John wanted his lips. John's hips jumped up and he shuddered. He tossed the bear to the floor as his arms flailed for purchase in the sheets._

_'Yes, Sherlock, yes,' he breathed. 'Please. Please.'_

_'What's the magic word?' he hissed from underneath the covers. _

_'Please! Please!' John begged. 'Oh dear god please!'_

_Sherlock ghosted his lips over John's member. 'I'm sorry? I can't hear you under the covers,' he laughed loudly._

_John growled in frustration. 'Sir. Sir, please. I'm begging you. Please touch me.' Sherlock opened his mouth wide and clamped it down on John. John grit his teeth together and moaned loudly, bucking his hips into Sherlock's mouth._

_'Silencer,' he gasped. 'Silencer.' His hand scrambled to the bedside table, grasping the small device and turning it on._

_As Sherlock continued his ministrations he began to think. Now Sherlock was constantly thinking, especially of late and with the events that had taken place. He wondered what was really going on with his mind, whether it was nothing serious or whether the news that would be given to him and John would be grave and heart wrenching. _

_He thought about all he and John had once had and all he had now, about his children, his wonderful children. He wondered how he could have become completely smitten with them in less than a day, and he pondered about what kind of father he had been before his memory loss, and then of course the kind of father he wanted and longed to be. _

_No more bees. No more being distant. Violin teaching for Benny. Tea parties and secret Doctor Who watching with Felicity._

_He worried about his brother, more unstable than he had ever seen him, and yet somehow even more loving. It took him back to when he and Mycroft had been children, not happy, but at peace with each other. _

_Part of him longed to be a child again because although he had had to worry about the physical beatings he had always had his mind to fall back on. His genius, ever expanding, quick witted, and all-seeing mind. _

_He didn't want to lose that. He didn't want to have to remember his children or John through photos. He wanted to be able to soak in every moment he spent with them and he wanted to remember them. Because he dreaded the thought of losing even a second of time with them. _

_He loved them. He loved John. All three of them had stolen his heart from the word go. He never wanted that love to be ripped from him, never wanted to forget that this is where he belonged, with his family, by his husband's side, watching as his children grew into remarkable young adults. _

_He wanted John to be the last thing he saw, wanted to grow old and retire together, laughing over old memories. _

_That wasn't going to happen he feared. It wasn't going to happen because his mind was going to cave in on itself and slowly deteriorate. Today had been a wake up call. A fire had been lit within his mind, slowly burning away at his mind and the memories it contained. _

_And what does fire do? It destroys._

_John groaned. He could feel Sherlock's mind wandering. His mouth had slowed and his body had gone tense. He rut his hips, trying to bring Sherlock back to the present._

_Sherlock blinked. How long had he been out of it? Shrugging he began to pick up his speed once more. John gasped and arched into Sherlock's touch, silently begging him for more. Sherlock pushed every single thought in his mind away and simply focused on John, using his tongue as a deadly weapon. John cried out and pushed himself closer to Sherlock's mouth._

_'More, sir! Please, more!' he begged. Sherlock growled, bobbing his head faster, driving John closer and closer._

_'Yes! Yes, sir! Yes!' John cried, bucking his hips into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock pinned John's hips down and growled almost angrily around John's throbbing erection. John gasped and whimpered, writhing under Sherlock's talented tongue._

_'Oh fuck,' he whimpered, close to the edge. Sherlock sucked down harder, pinching John's thighs. He moaned in satisfaction as he began to taste John's seed streaming into his mouth and over his taste buds. He hummed happily and genuinely felt content in that moment. John gasped and spluttered as he came, a string of 'oh fuck, oh fuck' chanting from his mouth. His back arched off the bed and he screamed as his orgasm ended, gasping for breath and falling back on the mattress with a thud._

_Sherlock released John and scrabbled up him, flinging the covers off and gasping for air. He laughed, collapsing onto John with an exhausted sigh. John giggled and inhaled deeply, coming down from his high. He tangled his fingers in Sherlock's hair and sighed happily._

_'Night, night, John,' Sherlock muttered, his eyelids suddenly unbearably heavy. John picked Beary up off the floor and put him between the two of them, turning into his side to face Sherlock._

_'Goodnight, love,' he whispered, nuzzling against him._

_Sherlock slept soundly in the knowledge that John was by his side and his children were just downstairs. He was safe. No more Moriarty to contend with and no abusive father to hurt him. Just the comfort of sleep washing over him, and the knowledge that he had a near perfect life now._

_John curled closer to his sleeping husband, nuzzling his nose into his hair. 'I love you,' he mumbled sleepily. 'Love you so much.'_

* * *

Ok, so daddy!batch and parent!lock feels all around. I personally loved writing for Felicity. She's pretty awesome. Next week's chapter is around 70 typed pages, so it's another long read. The longest chapter in the story I believe. So be prepared for more parent!lock feels and gaps in Sherlock's memory. Happy Red Pants Monday, and we'll see you next week.

TSA + IB


	23. Dream On

Fair warning: this chapter is 32,530 words long. It's a long ass chapter, the longest in the story, so it'll take a while to finish. But it's a good read. Full of feels and sorrow. Enjoy!

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock

Me: John, Felicity, Ben, Mycroft, Greg

Shared: little Mark

_Warnings for this chapter: feels, alcohol use and abuse, depression, mentions of drug use, risk of overdose, and substance withdrawals._

* * *

Chapter 23 – Dream On

_When Sherlock awoke he felt groggy. It was as though he had been sleeping for days on end. He groaned and stretched out his legs under the covers, lazily cracking open an eye._

_John was downstairs making breakfast. Felicity was flitting about the house, frantic about her first day of high school._

_'Dad, do you know where my favourite skirt is?' she asked, her hands fisting her blonde locks._

_'Yes, and I'm not telling you because there is no way in hell I'm letting you go out dressed like that,' he answered, scrambling the eggs and frying the bacon. 'Put jeans on and a t-shirt. A proper one.'_

_'Ugh! Dad! I'm not a kid anymore!' she protested, stalking off to her room to get dressed._

_'Which is why I refuse to see you dress like a tart,' John mumbled under his breath. Ben came out of his room, dressed smartly in jeans and a purple button down reminiscent of Sherlock's. His violin case was under his arm, his shoes in his free hand._

_'Hey Dad,' he smiled, plopping down at the island and snatching a piece of bacon off the plate. 'Where's Father?'_

_'Probably still sleeping,' John smiled softly. 'Go easy on him, ok? He might not remember what today is.'_

_'Sure thing Dad,' Ben nodded solemnly. Felicity appeared then, dressed in proper jeans, heels, and a red shirt like John used to wear. God, they were so reminiscent of him and Sherlock when they were younger. It brought a tear to John's eye._

_'You look beautiful, sweetheart,' he choked out._

_'Thanks Dad,' she blushed. 'Where... Um... Where's Father?'_

_'Upstairs,' Ben answered for John, seeing how torn up he was. 'We think today's going to be a danger day. So, be nice.' Felicity nodded, her blonde locks falling around her face like a halo._

_Sherlock groaned as he realised he was alone in bed. John was obviously up and about already. He glanced at the clock. No wonder. John had told him Benny was an early riser and so he was probably downstairs dealing with him._

_He jumped from bed, a huge grin spreading across his face. He was positively happy about seeing the children again. Not even his looming doctor's appointment seemed to dampen his mood._

_He speedily got dressed, shoving on a black t-shirt and some pyjama bottoms before thundering down the stairs, searching for John._

_'Sweetie, you have to eat,' John told Felicity. She was staring at her plate of eggs and bacon, fidgeting in her seat._

_'I'm too nervous to eat,' she said._

_'Why? It's not like you won't know anyone there. All your friends will be there, it's not like you won't know anyone. Just eat. Trust me.' Felicity groaned and stabbed a piece of egg with her fork before slowly bringing it to her lips. The trio all turned as a thundering was heard on the stairway._

_'John?' Sherlock whispered under his breath, not wanting to wake up Benny. He crept down the hallway, straining his ears to listen to where everybody was. It sounded like everyone had already started breakfast. He sped into the kitchen like a mad man. He first saw John and he smiled the biggest smile but then his eyes set on the girl and the boy that were staring at him. His heart stopped in his chest and his eyes widened. _

_All he could think was: Oh god please not again._

_**Yep. Danger day,**__ John affirmed._

_'Good morning, Father,' Felicity said sweetly._

_'Morning, Father,' Ben said around a mouthful of toast. It came out sounding like 'Fafer,' how Benny used to pronounce Sherlock's title, and John's heart broke. Would Sherlock remember?_

_Sherlock's eyes scanned over the boy and girl. He already knew what had happened - who they were. His mind ached and his heart shuddered within his chest. His mind had deteriorated further. He'd lost yet more time with his husband and children. He swallowed, composing his face, and walking into the kitchen as confidently as he could._

_'Morning!' he exclaimed a little too cheerily, grabbing a seat and opening up a paper, flicking through the page but not really taking in what the black and white print said. He wasn't prepared to face the fact that his condition had worsened. Nope. He wasn't even going to mention it. John sighed and fried more bacon. He figured Sherlock would play it off as nothing, at least until the kids left for school._

_Felicity swallowed, tears pricking her eyes. She looked over to Ben who shook his head, 'don't written on his face._

_'How'd you sleep, love?' John asked, trying for a sense if normalcy._

_Sherlock glanced up at John a little edgily._

_'Fine,' he replied briefly before turning his eyes back to the paper. John sighed, pushing the issue aside for the moment. He didn't want Sherlock to lash out in front of the kids, especially on the first day of school when everyone was nervous._

_Felicity's lower lip trembled. How much had her dad lost? She'd grown to think of Sherlock as her dad despite John being her biological one. And while she loved them both equally, it was her and Sherlock watching Doctor Who she cherished the most. And it was because of Sherlock that Ben got started with the violin. John was the supportive father while Sherlock had become the interested party. Not that John wasn't there for them, but as Sherlock started taking an interest John was sort of pushed to the background, but he was always there._

_When Sherlock had been diagnosed with dementia Felicity had been torn. She had been too young to understand at the time, but she knew what was going on with her father's mind now. She had been devastated when she finally realised what was happening, and she had held onto him for hours before crying herself to sleep in his arms._

_Now she was on the verge of tears again. She didn't want to lose her dad, not so early. She needed to do more research, find out what to do to help. John had already started with the photo timeline, and she liked to walk through it herself every now and again to relive the happier moments. She risked glancing up at her dad and saw he was doing his best to ignore the situation, hiding behind the newspaper he wasn't even reading._

_Sherlock could feel a pair of eyes boring in to him, studying him observantly. He peeked his eyes over the top of the newspaper and felt his insides contort as he locked eyes with Felicity. She was no longer a little girl anymore but a young woman. Despite that he could still see the little girl in her eyes. He studied her, deducing her within seconds. At least his deduction skills were seemingly unaffected. _

_She was scared, worried, nervous, and agitated. _

_He observed that although she was wearing casual clothes they were smart. She was obviously off to school. Maybe it was a new school which is why she was so nervous and agitated. Why was she scared? And then it came to him like a stab to the chest. _

_It was him. She was scared for him._

_He gently tossed the newspaper aside and stood to his feet, walking over to Felicity with a purpose. He cautiously wrapped his arms around her._

_'Good luck with your first day, Princess,' he whispered into her ear._

_Felicity couldn't hold back her tears and sobbed into Sherlock's shoulder, holding him close. John's heart broke at the sight. Even after losing so much of their time he still saw her as his princess. John felt himself choking up and wiped at his eyes, turning off the stove before he burned the last of the bacon._

_Sherlock held onto Felicity tightly. 'I'm sorry, I'm really sorry. Forgive me for upsetting you,' he apologised quickly, trying to hold down his own emotions to the best of his ability. 'Please, please, don't cry.' Felicity clutched tightly at Sherlock's shirt, nodding but continuing to cry despite her best efforts. She wanted to tell him how much she loved him, how nervous she was about her first day not because she would be at a new school but because she didn't want to leave him._

_'It'll be ok,' he assured her. 'I'm just having–' he paused. '–a bit of an off day.' Felicity sniffed and nodded, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand._

_'Ugh. I'm going to have to redo my makeup now,' she choked out. 'Sorry d–Father.' She didn't want to call Sherlock 'dad' in front of John. It was their special thing, like watching Doctor Who, and she didn't want to hurt John's feelings by using the term with Sherlock as well._

_'I guess my nerves are just fried because of today,' she managed to say. 'New school and all.'_

_'You'll be fine, sis,' Ben said, shoving a forkful of eggs into his mouth. 'You're smart. And trust me when I say you'll make at least one new friend today. It's how you are. No need to be nervous.'_

_'It's not the students I'm nervous about,' Felicity mumbled._

_'Sweetie, the teachers will love you,' John finally spoke up._

_'Not them either,' Felicity whispered under her breath, peering up at her dad who she knew had heard her._

_Sherlock's eyebrows raised high on his forehead. Had Felicity nearly gone to call him dad? He gave a confused but warm look and a smile wriggled across his features. He then heard her whisper about it not being the teachers she was worried about. Her eyes told him everything he needed to know. _

_He sighed heavily. 'There is no need to worry about me.' He squeezed her shoulder. 'I'm fine.'_

_'Okay,' she nodded weakly. She turned to John. 'Dad, I ate. I'm fixing my makeup. I'll be back before the bus gets here.' She dashed off to her room before John could answer, locking herself in the bathroom and gulping down deep breaths._

_**He called me princess,**__ she smiled happily._

_Sherlock smirked at Benny. 'Morning Benny.' He noticed that his old childhood violin was sat proudly beside him and his smirk widened. 'If you have time we can play together later.' He paused. 'That is if you aren't too old to play with your old man.'_

_'Morning Father,' Ben smiled. 'I would enjoy playing with you after I get home from school. Oh, and the school said this year in and practice my violin instead of going to gym. The kids are brutal in there.'_

_Sherlock frowned and stared at Benny, suddenly feeling a gush of protectiveness rise in his chest. 'If they're giving you any trouble I could probably sort them out.' He grit his teeth together, nostrils flaring._

_'It's fine,' Ben said. 'They aren't picking on me or anything. Well, mostly. But I don't let them get to me. I usually just state some obvious fact about them and they go away. Usually.'_

_Sherlock swallowed. 'That's my boy.' He stepped closer and ruffled his son's hair playfully. 'You don't need those people. They're all ordinary and complete idiots.'_

_'They're boring,' Ben smirked. 'And stupid. They don't think at all. Their grades are proof of that.'_

_Sherlock nodded. 'Mundane idiots who don't observe simply don't deserve to be around such fine company.'_

_'Thanks,' Ben smiled. 'Hey, I've got some time before the bus arrives. Do you want to hear me play?'_

_Sherlock nodded simply. 'I'd love to,' he smiled weakly, straining himself to try and get it to meet his eyes._

_Ben smiled softly, reaching out and squeezing his father's hand. He stood and grabbed the violin case, leading Sherlock to the sitting room. Two music stands stood by the windows, facing each other. Ben sat Sherlock on the sofa, strolling over to the shorter stand and pulling out his violin._

_'I've been working on this for a couple weeks,' Ben explained as he positioned the violin under his chin. 'Let me know what you think.' He put the bow to the strings and began to play._

_Sherlock closed his eyes and tilted his head back onto the sofa, letting the music wash over him. He felt his breath quite literally stop in his chest. The music was soft, childlike, beautiful, and deadly sad. He was glad that it didn't hold anywhere near the amount of torture his own music brought, but even with that sad tears began streaming down his cheeks and his entire body shook. He hoped this wasn't a start of another panic attack. How foolish would he look in front of Benny if that were the case._

_Ben finished playing, taking a deep breath to steady his emotions. He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, setting his violin on the stand. He knew he wasn't supposed to do that, but his father was crying from his playing and he needed him. He walked to the sofa and sat gingerly in Sherlock's lap, wrapping his arms around him in a tender hug._

_'Please don't cry,' Ben whispered. 'It's alright, Father. I... I love you.'_

_Sherlock wrapped his arms around his son weakly. 'I love–' he gasped for air, '–you too,' he just about managed before his sobs raised in both noise and pitch, causing him to sound like some kind of dying animal. 'I think–' he struggled for breath, '–I need your dad's help. Get him, p-please.'_

_Great. This was a panic attack. His cheeks turned a rosy red in colour from embarrassment and lack of air._

_'Ok,' Ben nodded, running off to find John._

_John had hidden himself in his and Sherlock's bathroom, crying silently. Sherlock had been diagnosed with dementia five years ago, confirming John's fears. He had helped Sherlock through the first few months, the two of them created the photo timeline, and even Ben and Felicity had done their best to help even though they didn't fully understand what was going on. It had been fine, until Sherlock woke up one morning and couldn't remember the last two years of his life. It didn't happen again for another year, and it began happening with increasing frequency, going from years to months, losing more time with each episode._

_'Dad? Dad! Father needs you!' Ben's voice permeated his thoughts, his tone urgent and worried. John lifted his head and wiped his eyes and cheeks of tears. He looked at himself in the mirror, making himself presentable before opening the door and leaving the bedroom. Ben was on the stairs, wild eyed._

_'Ben? What's going on?'_

_'It's Father. I think he's having another attack. He can't breathe.'_

_John rushed downstairs to the sitting room, laying a flailing Sherlock across the sofa and preparing to give him CPR once again. Tilting his husband's head back he breathed a puff of air into his mouth, holding him steady as he gasped and spluttered under him. Sherlock continued to cry loudly as John tried to blow air into his lungs. He grasped at the material of John's shirt tightly and pressed his fingers into the flesh that lay below. _

_When he finally gained back what was a nearly normal breathing pattern he pulled away and buried his face in John's shoulder._

_'S-orry,' he hiccupped._

_'It's alright, love,' John whispered softly. 'It's alright.' He looked to Ben who was lingering in the archway._

_'Get ready and put your shoes on,' he said. Ben nodded and scrambled off to his room. John sat Sherlock up and held him to his chest, stroking his hair soothingly._

_'It's not though, is it?' he blubbered, leaning against John. 'Everything is so messed up.'_

_'It's been worse,' John admitted. 'We can go through the pictures again if you want. After the kids have gone off to school.'_

_'I don't want to,' Sherlock shook his head. 'I can't go look at memories that will never return to my mind.' He shook his head vigorously. 'I... I just can't do that. Not today.'_

_'Alright, love. Alright,' John murmured, running his fingers through Sherlock's hair. He glanced at the clock and sighed. 'The bus will be here any moment. Want to see the kids off?'_

_'Okay,' Sherlock whispered. 'I'll see them off.' He closed his eyes for a brief second and hoped he could at least put some of the walls that detached him from feelings back up, he had once had them before John had come along but now they were weak and crumbling. _

_Opening them again he noticed the abandoned violin trembling on the smaller music stand. He tutted and got up to his feet with a bit of John's help. Heading over to it he picked it up gently and cradled it in his arms like a baby. 'Can't let him forget this.'_

_'He would be bored without it,' John grinned. 'I swear that violin is his life. When the two of you play, god Sherlock, it's a thing of beauty.'_

_Felicity peered into the sitting room, observing her dads. Sherlock was cradling Ben's violin in his arms. She smiled and turned away, sighing. Ben saw her and quirked an eyebrow. She smiled and gestured behind her. Ben smiled when he saw his violin in Sherlock's arms._

_'Dad, the bus is almost here,' Ben said. His dads turned to look at him and he smiled over at Sherlock, gesturing to the violin. 'Thanks for taking care of her.'_

_'No problem at all.' Sherlock handed the violin over to his son. 'I see you've kept her in good nick,' he smiled sadly. _

_'I'm sorry about earlier Benny,' he said in a small voice. 'It's just - your music got to me.'_

_'That's a good thing, right?' Ben asked, putting the violin back in its case. 'You didn't hate it or anything, did you?'_

_'No,' Sherlock huffed a laugh. 'Not at all. I'd go as far as saying you're a far better player than myself.'_

_Ben blushed and hid his face, not in embarrassment but pride he felt he didn't deserve just yet. 'Thanks,' he mumbled._

_The bus pulled up to the house, the driver honking the horn. John looked out the window and held up two fingers, the driver tapping his watch. John nodded and turned back to the kids._

_'Ben, you'll do great. Don't let the kids get to you. They don't know how to appreciate genius.' He hugged the boy tightly before releasing him for Sherlock to hug._

_'Felicity,' he sighed, looking at his little girl. 'You're going to be fantastic, darling. I love you so much.' He hugged her tightly, her arms wrapping around his shoulders. She released him and turned to Sherlock, waiting for him._

_Sherlock firstly hugged Benny, ruffling his hair, and gripping onto him tightly. 'Keep practicing, yeah?' He gestured to the violin before stepping away. _

_He turned to Felicity and pulled her into a delicate hug because deep down, despite everything, she was still like a princess to him._

_'I'll see you after school, ok?' he whispered softly so only he and Felicity could hear. She nodded, her forehead pressed tightly to his shoulder._

_'I love you, Dad,' she whispered, kissing his cheek before pulling away. She sniffled but managed to keep her tears at bay. She smiled at him and walked to the door, Benny right behind her. She waved at her dads before closing the door and heading to the bus. The driver pulled away and sped off to the next pickup._

_John sighed and wiped away a few stray tears. They grow up so fast, he thought to himself._

_Sherlock glanced over to John and sighed shakily. 'You didn't think I forgot your hug did you?' he asked, pulling his husband tightly against him. John wrapped his arms around Sherlock, burying his nose in his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut, a few tears escaping despite his best efforts._

_'Sorry,' he whispered. 'God. I just... The kids have grown up so much.'_

_'Tell me about it,' Sherlock muttered sadly, his inner emotions only emphasized my his prolonged sigh._

_'I'm sorry, love,' John whispered. 'If um... If you're up for it we're actually supposed to visit Myc and Greg today. They came back from the hospital the other day with baby Mark. Do you want to meet your nephew?'_

_Sherlock pulled back and rubbed his head. He was starting to develop a headache with the ton of information wriggling into his mind like a thousand angry worms. He winced. How many more things had changed? _

_He shook his head. 'Would they forgive me if I came and visited him another time?' he mumbled. 'My mind's not going to cope with much more today.'_

_'I'm sure he'll understand,' John said softly. 'I'll give little Mark a hug and kiss for you then?'_

_'Will you?' he questioned, entirely grateful for John's understanding. 'I would love to meet him but–' he trailed off._

_'I know, love. I know.' John cupped his face in his hands and looked into his eyes. 'I'll take pictures and show you, ok? And I'll let Myc know you'll meet him later. He'll understand.'_

_'And how is the insufferable sod bearing up these days?' Sherlock smiled fondly._

_'Better. He's on medication now,' John half smiled. 'But I'm looking forward to seeing him sleep-deprived and delirious now that baby Mark's arrived. I'll take pictures of that too.' He laughed and hugged Sherlock again._

_'I'll be leaving for their house soon. Do you want me to get anything while I'm out?'_

_Sherlock almost came up with the sarcastic retort of 'my memories back,' however he decided against it. He shook his head and glared at the ground. 'Do send my brother my love.'_

_'Ok, love,' John sighed. He caressed Sherlock's cheekbones and pulled him in for a chaste kiss. 'I'll be back in a few hours. Take care of yourself. I love you.'_

_'I love you too, dear,' he replied with a half smile. 'I'll miss you.'_

_'I'll miss you too,' John murmured. 'I'll send you a couple pictures on your phone of Mark and the happy couple, yeah?'_

_'Okay. I'll probably reply with a sarcastic remark,' Sherlock huffed a small laugh._

_John clicked his tongue and smirked. 'Feel free to send any sarcastic remarks toward Myc as you want. I know how much you enjoy that.' He looked to the clock and sighed._

_'I should get going. It takes awhile to get to their house. I know I said this already, but take care of yourself.' He kissed Sherlock again and sighed against his lips. 'Love you.' Sherlock kissed John roughly, pulling him tight to him, catching him off guard. He pulled away and smirked._

_'Plenty more of that to come when you get back.' John blushed and pulled away, dizzy and breathless. He couldn't remember the last time Sherlock had kissed him like that. God, it felt fantastic. He gave his husband a goofy grin._

_'Oh, I look forward to it... sir,' he winked. He moved to step away and nearly fell, his knees weak from the kiss. He quickly righted himself, shooing away Sherlock's concern. He cleared his throat and walked to the van, steadying his breathing before starting it. He waved to Sherlock and blew him a kiss before departing._

_When John left Sherlock was left to mull over his thoughts; something that was bad news on good days. He walked to the sofa and collapsed onto it with a whimper, his lower lip giving a tiny quiver. A sob broke through his lips as the temporary walls he'd tried to put up for the children's sake after his first break down of the day came tumbling down, crushing him like his emotions were actually weighing down on him._

_He found his trembling body craving something and as he opened his eyes he saw what it was. A large bottle of vodka sat in front of him. He hadn't a clue how it had gotten there or why his body was aching for him to put it to his lips when he hadn't touched vodka since his teenage years, but he knew that he needed it, badly._

_He grabbed the bottle and wrenched it open urgently before tilting it against his lips. He closed his eyes again and hummed as he felt warmth speed through his system like wildfire. _

_God that felt insanely right and satisfying._

_As John drove to the Holmes-Lestrade manor, he thought about all that had happened that morning. Mostly about Sherlock and how he must be so scared and confused that his mental walls were crumbling down. John gripped the steering wheel tight and exhaled forcefully. He told himself that Sherlock would be fine, but he truly hated leaving him on his own. He always had that nagging feeling in his gut telling him that, as a doctor, he should never leave a dementia patient on their own alone in a supposedly strange and unfamiliar place. But Sherlock was no ordinary dementia patient. He had proven time and time again that whenever he had spells of confusion and memory loss he could power through it and calm himself down enough to realise that perhaps the people around him weren't going to hurt him after all. And once he walked the Hallway of Memories (as John had been prone to calling it) he calmed further and even called them by name._

_John sighed and forced himself to stop thinking and pay attention to the road. He had a ways to go yet and he wanted to arrive in one piece. Myc and Greg probably wouldn't appreciate him bleeding on the carpet. John huffed a laugh and pulled out his phone, staring at the photo of Sherlock when they first met. Well, close enough anyway as they had been sharing the flat for close to four months at the time. Still relatively new to John. But it was a photo of Sherlock playing the violin. He was standing in front of the window, the only light source streaming in through the half-closed curtains, making Sherlock look like he was being touched by some sort of holy light. God, he was beautiful. He was still beautiful, even thirty years later. John just wished Sherlock could see it. As he began driving again he found his mind wandering back to his husband and how he was holding up at home._

_Sherlock was being dragged further and further under the powers of the alcohol. It helped him forget about his problems and warmed him to the core. His mind felt fuzzy and protected, and despite it burning the back of his throat, causing him to occasionally cough and splutter, he had managed to drink almost all of the bottle. He placed it back where he had found it, shocked and a little angry at himself for allowing himself to consume such a great amount of alcohol. He groaned and clenched his eyes shut as his head began to swoosh. What would John do if he found him like this? What would the children's reactions be if they knew he had resorted to alcohol? He had to get rid of the evidence and sober up fast. That was a decision easy for Sherlock to make at least. _

_When he next opened up his eyes two strange things had happened. Firstly, the near empty bottle of alcohol had vanished, and secondly his violin and a bottle of mouthwash were sitting in its place. _

_The violin might help him to sober him up, or at least help him to focus on something other than the burning in his veins. And that mouth wash would be definitely be useful to cover the smell of his breath and the taste on his tongue in case John expected a kiss when he got home, which was most likely._

_'John!' Greg exclaimed upon opening the door. He wrapped the shorter man in a hug and laughed. 'Good to see ya, mate. Where's your other half?'_

_'Home,' John smiled weakly. 'He had an episode this morning. Not too bad though as he could remember us this time. He even called Felicity "princess" this morning.'_

_'Well, I'm sorry to hear about the episode but glad to hear it wasn't so bad,' Greg said softly._

_'Gre-gor-y!' Mycroft shouted from deep inside the house. 'He's crying again! What do I do?!' Greg and John laughed. Greg moved aside, letting John inside._

_'Bring him to me, Myc,' Greg said. 'I'll show you what you need to do.'_

_'I guess it's safe to say you're the more competent parent in this house?' John smirked._

_'Three previous children have pretty much desensitised me to anything that could possibly go wrong,' Greg said. 'Crying is sometimes still an issue, like if it happens at night. But yes, I am definitely the more competent parent.'_

_A very ragged Mycroft appeared, his shirt and tie askew, holding baby Mark. John just about cooed at the sight of the little ginger bundle. Greg took the baby off Mycroft's hands and walked to the kitchen, warming a bottle. Myc looked at John wild eyed._

_'Make it stop,' he whispered, grabbing John tightly by the shoulders. 'The crying. Constantly with the crying. It doesn't need changing and it doesn't need food. Why is it crying?!'_

_John couldn't help but laugh, pulling out his phone and snapping a picture of Myc's haggard face. Myc was so out of it he didn't even so much as scowl at John._

_'Listen to your son,' John said softly. 'There are different cries for different things. Hot, cold, hungry, and a full nappy. Just listen, trust me.' Myc barely nodded and left for the living room, collapsing on the sofa in a heap and falling asleep soon after. John couldn't resist in taking another photo._

_Sherlock was sprawled across the sofa, his violin resting on his chest, his breathing slow and steady. His head was still swimming in the alcohol so his legs had been rendered useless and his violin playing was brought down to simply plucking the strings every few seconds. He pondered to himself about how bad his condition had gotten, how upset and unsettled his family seemed to be, and how much worse his condition was getting. He shifted through his mind noticing that there were more and more black spots where memories once had been. _

_He thought about how he had suddenly willed things into existence. When he had been craving alcohol it had appeared out of nowhere, and when he had wanted his violin and something to wash out the taste in his mouth out both things turned up. _

_**Perhaps I'm just insane because of my condition. Things don't just magically appear at will. Maybe I'd retrieved them myself but forgot about it.**_

_**Insane and an alcoholic.**_

_Everything about his life seemed pointless now. Where there had once been color and joy there was now the dark and sadness, a deep and gut wrenching sadness. _

_**Most likely depressed too. Not at all surprising. It would also explain my sudden need to turn to alcohol to feel better about my life. In which case why didn't John say anything? Why would have he risked leaving me alone? Not that I'm quite thankful for this time alone. Maybe John doesn't know about my alcoholism. I'm not sure if that's good or bad.**_

_His thoughts swerved to Mycroft and the promise that he had made. To protect his family. _

_**Perhaps he doesn't think it's gotten so bad. Or maybe he's forgotten the deal altogether in the hope that he can hold onto me, his darling little brother, for longer. Perhaps it's high time I reminded him of his promise.**_

_He fished out his phone and began to rather drunkenly type, too lazy to concentrate on typing in the proper manner. He knew that Mycroft would tell something was up just from his text speak. _

_**Hav u kept ur promise, My? –SH**_

_**2 protect my fam. –SH**_

_**Congrats on being a dad btw. –SH**_

_Mycroft shuddered awake when his phone went off. He lifted his head slowly, not wanting the blood to rush to quickly to his sleep-deprived brain. He strained to listen for where Greg and John were. In the kitchen, he deduced, baby Mark sucking on a bottle._

_His phone went off again and he groaned. He turned over on his back and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He really hoped Gregory wasn't texting him again to wake him up. He hated it when he did that. Much to his surprise it was his little brother. But wasn't he here? He searched his memory and realised that only John had come. Why hadn't Sherlock?_

_His phone buzzed one last time and Mycroft finally opened the messages. The grammar was atrocious and had Sherlock really used numbers and slang? And was that an acronym? God, he must really be out of it. Or drunk. Mycroft had fond memories of his brother drunk texting him, and it seemed he was doing it again. He opened a new message and typed his reply._

_**I am looking out for your family as best I can. I haven't forgotten. –MH**_

_**And thanks. Mark is a handful but I love him. –MH**_

_**By the way, have you been drinking? –MH**_

_Sherlock smiled to himself as he received his brother's reply. However his smile soon turned into a frown as he was unsure of what to answer the third text with. Could he trust Mycroft not to tell John about his alcohol consumption? He raked his fingers through his curls before beginning to type once more. _

_**R u sure I hav not becum a danger 2 my fam & myself? Cus Im not sure. –SH**_

_**I wana meet my nephew, My. Sum other time maybe? –SH**_

_**I may have drank a tiny bit of vodka. But if u tell John I will kill u. Understood? –SH**_

_Mycroft read over the texts Sherlock had sent him._

_'Tiny bit of vodka my arse,' he grumbled, typing out a reply._

_**So long as the drinking doesn't become a habit I see no danger. And you haven't abused them in any way. Not that I've noticed anyway. –MH**_

_**Whenever you meet Mark I want you clean and sober or I may just kill you. Understood? –MH**_

_**And I won't tell John unless the alcohol becomes a problem. Otherwise you need to tell him if you think it already is. –MH**_

_**I hurt them. I make them sad. –SH**_

_Sherlock's fingers trembled as he continued to type. Was it a habit of his? How was he supposed to know when he was constantly forgetting things?_

_**Understood, My. –SH**_

_His hands quivered further as he typed out one simple word that summed up how he was feeling perfectly._

_**Scared. –SH**_

_Mycroft ran a hand through his thinning hair. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He hated it when Sherlock was scared. It made him feel like he had failed as an older brother, the one who was always supposed to protect his little brother. But how could he protect his brother from himself?_

_**I know you're scared. I'm scared too. Do you want me to move your family? Or do you want to talk to John first? –MH**_

_He paused, reading Sherlock's first text._

_**How did you hurt them and make them sad? It wasn't physical, was it? –MH**_

_**Neither. –SH**_

_Sherlock shuddered. He didn't want to do either of those things. On the other hand what needed to be done and what he wanted were two completely different things._

_**No. Not that I can recall. But I make them so sad, My. –SH**_

_**I'm sad, My. Really sad. –SH**_

_**Sad as in depressed sad? –MH**_

_**Yes. –SH**_

_Sherlock took a deep breath. It had pained him to admit it even with it just being a three letter word needed to answer his brother's question._

_'Oh baby brother,' Mycroft sighed._

_**You need to talk to John. Please. Before you find your way back to the dark. –MH**_

_**I can't. –SH**_

_Sherlock wasn't prepared to talk to John about any of this. Hadn't he put his husband and his children through enough?_

_**Help me, brother, plz? –SH**_

_**What do you need me to do? –MH**_

_**I wanna see u. –SH**_

_**But u r busy. –SH**_

_He blinked uncaringly at the two badly written texts._

_**John is busy talking to Gregory and the baby. I can sneak out and come to you. –MH**_

_**Do you want me to? –MH**_

_**If it's not 2 much 2 ask, yes. –SH**_

_**I'll be there soon. –MH**_

_Mycroft sighed and straightened up, stretching the kinks out of his back. He kept quiet, sneaking off to the car park, signalling his driver for departure._

_'To my brother's. And step on it,' he ordered. The driver nodded and sped off down the road._

_Sherlock nodded sadly, closing his eyes. He returned to plucking the strings of his violin, not bothering in replying to his brother's text._

_**Sherlock, I know how you are when you drink. I want to be sure you aren't going to pass out on me. Text me back or call me. Don't ignore me. –MH**_

_'Get me there as fast as you can. I don't care what it takes.' The driver nodded and sped up, cutting through traffic like a speed racer._

_'I'm coming, Sherlock,' Mycroft muttered. 'I'm coming.'_

_Sherlock grunted as his phone buzzed. He couldn't bring himself to open his eyes again. He was tired, really tired. Drunk, tired and weary beyond belief. His plucks on his violin became softer and less often as the part of his mind telling his hand how to move was suddenly fogged up. _

_**Hurry brother, hurry.**_

_'Son of a bitch,' Mycroft growled. 'Answer your phone!' He dialled the house and Sherlock's mobile repeatedly, but he never answered._

_'Fuck!' Mycroft spat. 'How much longer?'_

_'At this rate, half an hour sir,' the driver responded, careening through traffic at an alarming rate. 'Provided we don't get into an accident or pulled over.'_

_'I'm the fucking government! They won't pull me over!' Mycroft hollered. 'God dammit!' He slammed his fist against the upholstery. 'Just hurry! He isn't answering!'_

_'Yes sir!' the driver nodded, flooring it as he came across a stretch of empty road. Mycroft braced himself against the seat, praying to a god he didn't believe in to keep his little brother alive._

_By that point Sherlock was far past caring that his brother had tried to call him several times over. He clutched his violin to his chest like it was his lifeline and buried his face in the sofa. He was losing hope altogether of his brother coming._

_The car pulled up to the house and Mycroft dashed out before it had even come to a proper stop. He pulled the spare key out from under the mat, forcing it into the lock and shoving the door open._

_'Sherlock?' he called, searching the kitchen and dashing into the sitting room. He found Sherlock on the sofa, his mobile on the floor, and clutching his violin like it was the only thing that cared about him in the world._

_'Sherlock? Sherlock, wake up,' Mycroft pleaded, moving to his side and shaking his shoulder gently._

_Sherlock huffed and batted the hands that were shaking his shoulder away. He opened his eyes blearily and giggled._

_'Croft,' he giggled harder._

_'This isn't funny, Sherlock,' Mycroft scowled. 'You had me scared to death. I thought you'd passed out, or worse.'_

_Sherlock tried to copy Mycroft's scowl but it turned out to be more of a befuddled expression. 'Mmm sorry, Croft.'_

_'Apology accepted,' Mycroft replied rather gruffly. 'Now, why do you want to see me? Do you want my help with something?'_

_'You're my brother. I wanted to see you,' Sherlock muttered, rubbing his alcohol fried brain. 'Problem?'_

_'Oh. Well.' Mycroft blinked. Sherlock had never just wanted to see him. Not without some ulterior motive. He looked down at his drunk brother sprawled over the sofa._

_'It, um... It's good to see you, Locky.'_

_'I wish it were under better circumstances, Croft.' His words slurred heavily, mashing together. He wriggled up on the sofa, creating space for his brother. 'Sit, please.' He patted the empty space. Mycroft adjusted Sherlock's posture on the sofa, not wanting him to slump over and off. He sat down next to him and watched him carefully, acutely aware of how drunk his younger brother was._

_'It happened again, Croft,' he said in a faint whisper, looking on at his brother with a look of helplessness in his ever-changing colored eyes. 'I forgot.'_

_'Oh, Locky,' Mycroft sighed and grasped his brother's hand. 'I'm sorry. I figured as much when John arrived alone. How much time did you lose?'_

_Sherlock clawed at Mycroft's hands with his fingertips. If it was hurting his brother he simply didn't react. 'At least five years at a guess.'_

_'Better than fifteen I suppose,' Mycroft said softly. 'You remembered your family this time at least.' He glanced down at Sherlock's hands which were clawing into his. He moved his hands away before clutching onto his hands tightly, stopping him from clawing at himself._

_'Where did the vodka come from?' he questioned softly, trying to capture Sherlock's wandering, drunken gaze. Sherlock frowned and shrugged, letting his eyes dance around the room._

_'It's strange,' he muttered. 'I can't remember.'_

_'It must have come from somewhere,' Mycroft stated. 'Bottles of alcohol don't just appear out of thin air.'_

_'Do you think I'm a complete idiot?' Sherlock snapped. 'Of course they don't just appear out of thin air.' He set a steely look upon his brother. 'I'm not lying. I can't remember.' Mycroft chewed his lip in thought._

_'Alright, then tell me this: where'd the bottle go? Because it's not in the trash or your room.' He held his phone up, a text from his driver on the screen. 'I was thorough.'_

_'I must have eaten it,' Sherlock replied sarcastically. Mycroft snorted and put his phone away._

_'Sorry. Sorry,' he apologised. 'You must have hid it somewhere. But trust me when I say this: if your children find you drunk, passed out on the floor, or god forbid they find your stash, I will send you to a rehab facility. Against your will if I have to. Understood?'_

_'I have no stash,' Sherlock grumbled under his breath. 'Hunt down the entire house if you like.'_

_He sighed heavily. 'I wouldn't mind going to rehab. I've stopped caring.'_

_Mycroft's face fell. 'Oh, Lock,' he sighed. 'It's that bad?' He shook his head, stopping any words Sherlock might have said in their tracks._

_'You don't have to answer that. I would put you in rehab if you truly wanted me to. But, what do you want? Do you want to stay here or have me send you somewhere?'_

_Sherlock shrugged, placing his violin aside. He swiveled his position and budged closer to Mycroft so his head was resting on his chest and his arms were wrapped around his brother's still protruding stomach._

_'I don't know, Croft. I don't know,' he admitted. 'I just know that I hate my life right now. If you only knew what I've thought about doing in the past few hours.' The younger Holmes' lip trembled. 'I almost consumed the whole bottle,' he whispered. _

_'Oh, Lock,' Mycroft sighed, pulling his baby brother closer to him. He rubbed calming circles on his back, trying to reign in his emotions._

_'Please don't leave this world like that,' he whispered. 'Not the coward's way, taking your own life. Please.'_

_Sherlock sniffled and squeezed his brother tightly. 'Mmm sorry,' he all but choked out. 'Mmm so sorry.'_

_'It will be alright baby brother,' Mycroft whispered. 'I... I'm saying this now in case you never get to hear me say it again.' He took a deep breath and whispered in his brother's ear:_

_'I love you.'_

_Sherlock glanced up warily at Mycroft and gave him a crooked smile._

_'Love you too, Croft.' He nuzzled his nose against his brother and hummed sleepily._

_'Shouldn't you leave?' he asked sadly. 'They'll notice you're gone for sure.'_

_'They'll be fine,' Mycroft said, brushing thoughts of his family aside for the moment. 'I'm here for you, as long as you may need me.'_

_'I'll always need you, Croft,' Sherlock mumbled, beginning to fall into a drunken sleep. 'Always.'_

_'And I'll always be there for you, Locky,' Mycroft whispered, risking petting Sherlock's hair. 'I promise.'_

_Sherlock was aware of something tugging on his arm urgently. He grunted and squirmed away from whatever or whomever was tugging at his arm in annoyance._

_'Go away, Croft,' he said with a childish huff._

_'It's not Uncle Myc, Dad. It's... It's your princess,' Felicity whispered softly. 'Daddy says you need to wake up now and eat something. We'll be leaving soon.'_

_'I'm not hungry,' he replied with a loud sigh. 'And not at all in the mood to go out. I apologise.'_

_'But, Dad,' Felicity pouted. 'It's my graduation. You said you'd be there.' Sherlock felt his brow crease at his daughter's words._

_'Don't be ridiculous Felicity. That's a complete impossibility. You're not old enough to graduate.' He rolled over and opened his eyes. He almost instantly jolted backwards, hitting his head against the headboard with an almighty thud. His lips shook as he formed the question, 'Princess?'_

_His teenage daughter was suddenly a beautiful young woman._

_'Hi Dad,' she smiled gently, placing her hand over his. 'Yes, it's me. Hard to believe, huh?' She hung her head and sniffled. 'Sorry. I just... I really want you to be there today. For me. Please?'_

_Sherlock took a moment to compose himself before slowly nodding. 'Of course, Princess. Anything for you.'_

_'Thanks Dad,' Felicity smiled weakly. She pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. 'I'll meet you downstairs, ok? Please hurry.'_

_'You call me "dad" openly now?' he questioned. 'Or is it still our little secret?'_

_He stood to his feet, walking over to his wardrobe, looking for something smart to wear._

_'Still just you and me,' Felicity whispered, winking. 'Like our secret Doctor Who watching.'_

_Sherlock grinned from ear to ear, his worries momentarily watered down by the briefest moment of happiness. 'I'm so glad I passed on my Whovian badge to you.'_

_He pulled out a smart black and white tux with a satisfied smile. 'Let me get dressed, and I'll be down.'_

_'Me too, Dad. I'll see you downstairs.' She moved to the door and paused, grinning. 'Fish fingers and custard, Dad. Fish fingers and custard.' She waved and left the room, bouncing down the stairs to join John and Ben in the kitchen._

_Sherlock frowned. 'Fish fingers and custard indeed,' he muttered to himself. It was obviously a reference to an episode he had forgotten. His gut dropped as the realisation of just how much he'd forgotten this time hit him. He felt numb as he put on his tux and when he went downstairs into the kitchen and saw John he couldn't even muster a smile._

_'Morning Lock,' John said, not really paying attention. He was tying Ben's bow tie, but the teenager was having none of it._

_'Why do I have to wear this stupid thing?' he groaned. 'I'm only going to untie it at the ceremony.'_

_'Because it's my graduation, I'm valedictorian, and I want you not to dress like a bloody slob for once,' Felicity huffed, checking her hair for probably the hundredth time._

_'But it's choking me,' Ben complained, making a gagging noise._

_'Behave,' John scolded. 'It'll be your turn next year, and you'll need to be wearing this suit again. So you might as well get used to it now.'_

_'Ben's graduating next year?' Sherlock questioned, startling all three parties._

_Ben looked toward his father, confusion and hurt written all over his face._

_'Yeah, Father. I skipped my freshman and sophomore years. Too tedious and boring. Thanks for remembering,' he scowled._

_'Benedict!' John scolded. 'You know your father can't help what he remembers or doesn't.'_

_'I don't fucking care!' Ben shouted. 'He's always so distant and lost and too goddamn drunk all the fucking time. Or are you still turning a blind eye to that, Dad? And where was he when I had my first violin concert? Passed out in an alley behind a bar. Do you remember that, Father?'_

_'Ben, you shut up right now,' Felicity growled. She stalked over to her little brother, glaring up at him even in heels. 'Shove your petty grievances aside for once and don't spoil my big day. Or I swear to god I'll bust you to Uncle Myc.'_

_'You wouldn't dare,' he growled back, glaring down at his sister._

_'Try me,' she sneered._

_'Bust you for what?' John asked, concerned._

_'Nothing, Dad,' Ben answered a little too quickly. Felicity just quirked an eyebrow and crossed her arms, her good mood with her dad earlier spoiled._

_Sherlock's face fell. 'You're right Benny,' he said in a pathetically small voice. 'I am distant. I hate myself for it._

_'My mind is slowly crumbling to pieces and I'm a shit parent. I don't need to be reminded of that. I simply look at myself in a mirror and I can see it.'_

_His eyes turned to stone and his heart sunk deep within his chest. 'And the last memory I have is of being pissed, huddled on your uncle's lap. So yes, I must turn to alcohol a lot. But you have no idea what it's like to have your life stolen from you. No fucking idea at all! I wish I could be there for you every fucking second but I can't. And do you know why? Because I'm bloody losing my grip on time and my life. _

_'I'm running out of time, Benny. One day I'll wake and I won't even remember my name! So deal with it!'_

_'Don't call me "Benny,"' the boy growled. 'I'm not a fucking child anymore Sherlock! Call me by my actual goddamn name! Shut up Dad!' he yelled at John who was about to speak up._

_'I know that your mind is dying, "being consumed by the fire within" as you once so eloquently put it. But guess what? I don't fucking care. I would have thought most people with memory loss would have tried to cling to the people they love most, but you didn't. You drank and distanced yourself from us. Felicity at least has the decency to hold on to the good memories you two shared, but I suppose I'm too full of petty grievances to look past the bad. And, well, the good things don't always soften the bad. And I have too many bad memories that the good can't overpower them.' He inhaled deeply before continuing, silencing Felicity's cries with his hand._

_'And you know what, if you wake up and can't remember me one day, I'll consider that a blessing. Maybe then I can go and find a real father. One who remembers me and goes to my violin concerts and supports me in all that I do!'_

_He glanced around the room, fuming. He glared at Felicity, tears streaming down her cheeks; John, who had collapsed on the floor in a heap; and finally Sherlock, looking all the world like a lost child._

_'Sod this,' he growled, ripping off his tie and throwing it to the ground. 'Sod all of this. I'm leaving. Sis, congrats but I'm not going to be there. Good luck in uni.' He removed his jacket and set it on the counter, undoing the top three buttons of his shirt before grabbing his wallet and keys before stalking from the house._

_Felicity began sobbing in earnest, covering her face in her hands. She wanted so much to go to her dad, to hug him and apologise for all the hurtful things Ben had said, but she knew it wouldn't make things right. It might even make them worse. She shouldn't apologise for her brother's actions anyway; they weren't her responsibility._

_John was gasping for breath on the floor, his sobs having racked his body for so hard they made it difficult to breathe. He curled in on himself on the floor, afraid to look at his daughter and husband for fear they would look just as lost and hurt as he felt. But he was more worried for Sherlock and his reaction to Ben's words, his scathing remarks, and how quickly he had abandoned them all. Sherlock had been right about Ben's teenage years. He'd gotten mixed up in the wrong crowd, his grades had started slipping, his violin had taken a backseat to his so-called friends, and John blamed himself for not being a better father to his son._

_Anger boiled underneath Sherlock's surface and his chest tightened. He looked over to John on the floor, crying in a heap, and then over to Felicity who looked unsure of what to do, silent tears streaming down her face. _

_He swallowed and shook his head. 'I wish Mycroft had kept his promise,' he sniffed. 'Because then I'd be locked up or dead and you'd all be rid of me. Which in all honesty at least gives you a chance of some happiness.'_

_He turned to John. 'I'm sorry for fucking everything up, love,' he said as softly as he could. 'I'm sorry my brother is incompetent in keeping promises. That he didn't protect you all by taking me away as I asked him.'_

_Then he slowly looked to Felicity. 'I'm sorry for ruining your big day. I shall not bother speaking for the rest of the day. I don't want to say anything wrong again. Feel free to call me by my name as well. I'm not your d- father.' He closed his eyes and snorted. 'I'm nothing to you. I always have been.'_

_'That's not true!' Felicity wailed. 'You have never been nothing! You were my everything! You took care of me when I was sick, you looked after Beary when I was away at school, you willingly went to my tea parties, we watched Doctor Who every day! You were there for me when boys were idiots, or when I was being an idiot with a boy. You have been my favourite man in the entire world since I was eight and that has never changed. You...' She turned to John, who had managed to sit up. She mouthed 'I'm sorry' at him before she continued._

_'You're my dad, my beautiful, wonderful daddy, and I love you more than anyone in the world.'_

_She moved forward and wrapped her arms around Sherlock in a secure hug. 'I love you so much, Dad. Please don't go.'_

_'I'm hurting you. All of you. You are far too much like your dad. So kind and forgiving and that's why I love you.' He hugged her to him tighter._

_'But it changes nothing. I have failed everyone, especially Benny.' Tears dripped from his eyes. 'He hates me as I hated my father. He is so much like me and I am terrified for him.'_

_He pulled back and glanced up at Felicity. 'You can hide it from your dad and cover up for Ben all you like but I know when someone has dropped into the dark path. I took it once. I suppose I still am with the alcohol._

_'I am sorry, princess. Maybe after this graduation you should simply allow your uncle to do what he sees fit about me and move on with your life.'_

_'Ben didn't take the path because of you,' Felicity whispered. John listened in earnest now. His Benny was following in Sherlock's footsteps? How had he not noticed?_

_'There was a girl,' Felicity explained. 'One of those grunge punk rockers like from the eighties. He really liked her, probably because she was everything he wasn't and secretly wanted to be. She was rebellious, badass, and had a fuck all attitude. He was smitten. And he really wanted to impress her so, the one time she passed him something he took it willingly._

_'But when they broke up, the drug use didn't end with the relationship. They got worse, mending a broken heart, and now he's slipping away from us. I'm so scared for him, Daddy. And I'm scared for you.'_

_She looked up at him, both their eyes shining with tears._

_'You keep drinking despite the knowledge that alcohol can make dementia worse. I wish you would stop, but I know you're too far gone to quit cold turkey. And I don't want Uncle Myc to do anything to you. He has no say in this matter. Because he is not your daughter, or your son, or your husband. He may be your brother, but we are your family. And we will stand behind you no matter what.'_

_'I'll talk to him. He might not listen to anything I have to say. However, I've been there in his situation. I took drugs to fit in. And if he doesn't stop then... he might... I don't want to think about that.' He wiped at his eyes._

_'I'm sorry about the alcohol. If I could stop I would but obviously I can't.' He clenched his jaw. 'Mycroft said he was going to send me to rehab if I worsened and continued to drink. Yet another broken promise by him._

_'Your uncle has plenty to say in this situation I am afraid. He knows how to make good, cold, logical decisions. And at the moment his decision should be to get me away from you. All of you. You said you'd stand behind me. Can you stand behind me on this?'_

_Felicity's lip trembled. She nodded and clutched her dad tighter._

_'If you're going to get better than I'll support you. I love you and I want you to get better.' She rested her head on his shoulder and sighed._

_'Will you still come to my graduation? Please?'_

_'Thank you,' he hushed. 'I love you too.'_

_'Of course,' Sherlock's voice cracked. 'I wouldn't miss it for the world.'_

_'Thanks, Daddy,' she whispered, smiling against his chest. She pulled back and wiped her eyes, her hands coming back streaked with black._

_'Ugh. Now I have to redo my makeup,' she sighed. 'Give me five minutes?' She dashed away, leaving her dads alone in the kitchen._

_Sherlock hurried over to John and lifted him up into his arms. 'I am so, so sorry.' He kissed his husband on the lips lightly. 'I love you. You know that, right?'_

_'I love you too,' John whispered, pulling himself closer to Sherlock. 'I am so sorry about Benny. I didn't know he felt that way, that he was taking... taking drugs.' His voice cracked and a small sob escaped. 'But, Mycroft wasn't not fulfilling his promises. I refused to let him take you. But, if you really want to, I'll allow him to take you to a rehab facility.'_

_'You weren't to know. How could you have known?' Sherlock reassured John. He clung to him closer._

_'Don't you think you've been putting it off for long enough? Maybe not today but soon. I guess you were a little pissed at him that he hadn't informed you of our plans?' He smiled sadly. 'I'm sorry about that.'_

_'Myc never told me the two of you had arrangements,' John said softly, his fingers clutching loosely at Sherlock's tux jacket. 'I always just assumed he was taking the bloody initiative yet again and was trying to take you away from us.'_

_He looked up at his husband and brought their lips together in a gentle kiss. 'And maybe you should go with him the next time he comes. That will give you time to talk to Benny about his... habit, and maybe see Felicity off to uni.'_

_'Of course. Not that Ben will appreciate a talk with me about it.' Sherlock smothered John's lips with his own, attacking them like there was no tomorrow._

_John gave a muffled sort of noise, not expecting Sherlock to kiss him so thoroughly. He quickly melted into it, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's neck and kissing him back just as fervently. Sherlock slid a hand to John's arse as he continued to kiss him relentlessly and gave it a light and cheeky squeeze. John gasped and moaned into Sherlock's mouth. One hand tangled itself in Sherlock's curls, the other travelled down Sherlock's back and gave his own supple arse a squeeze. Sherlock groaned, squeezing John's arse harder whilst moving his other hand to cup John through his trousers._

_'Oh god,' John moaned, his hips rutting into Sherlock's palm. 'Still such a dirty bastard after all these years.' He rut faster, pulling Sherlock into a deep kiss, his tongue plunging down Sherlock's throat._

_'I want you,' he gasped, moving as fast as his hips would allow. 'I want you so fucking much. Take me.'_

_'Felicity could walk in on us.' Sherlock grimaced at the idea of being caught in such a compromising situation by his daughter. However, that didn't stop his longing for John. He needed this. After everything that happened today god did he need this. He pushed John down onto the ground gently and straddled him._

_'It's a risk I'll take.' He teasingly moved up and down against the straining erection in his husband's trousers._

_'I didn't – oh fuck. I didn't mean here,' John groaned, rutting against Sherlock's hips. 'Bedroom. Now. The silencer is up there too.'_

_Sherlock groaned loudly. 'But that's no fun,' he pouted, kissing along John's neck. 'Besides I wasn't suggesting a fuck. Just a mere rutting session.' He moved his hips faster. 'As for silence?' He ripped his bow tie off and stuffed it in John's lips. John gasped at Sherlock's taking charge, his cock giving a lurch as he shoved his bow tie in his mouth. He groaned and nodded, rutting against his husband's own straining erection. His movements made his intentions clear: make this as quick as possible before Felicity comes back. Sherlock pounded himself against John, keeping up the quick and needy pace. He pinched John's bottom and grunted, pressing his lips to his husband's throat. John whimpered and clutched tightly to Sherlock's hips, rutting fast and hard against him. His heart was beating wildly in his chest, his breath coming in sharp gasps, and he was so close to a release he could almost taste it. He whimpered again, shifting his hips so Sherlock would rut against his sweet spot. He came sharply and with a muffled yell a few sharp thrusts later, his body arching towards Sherlock's and his head thrown back in pure ecstasy. Sherlock cried out as he too felt himself cum, exploding in his trousers painfully._

_'John!' he all but screamed. He soon froze however when he heard his daughter's footsteps racing towards the kitchen. He buried his face in John's neck. He was far past caring if it was obvious what he and John had just done. Besides, Felicity wasn't a little girl anymore._

_'Dad?!' Felicity cried, running into the kitchen. She was breathless, racing from her room after hearing her dad shout John's name. It sounded painful too. Was John hurt?_

_'Dad? Is everything al–' She stopped when she peered past the island. Her parents were sprawled on the floor, John's mouth stuffed with black fabric. She blushed bright red, suddenly realising the reason for her dad's shout. She swallowed and rushed from the room, not sure if she should be laughing or scared for life._

_Sherlock burst into laughter against John's neck. 'Oh god,' he snickered. 'Poor Felicity.'_

_John removed Sherlock's tie from his mouth, licking his lips as they had gone incredibly dry. He was blushing scarlet and hid his face in his hands. He was beyond embarrassed and couldn't believe Sherlock found the situation funny. His own daughter had walked in on the aftermath of their rutting session and she was probably traumatised beyond belief. How on earth was that funny?_

_'I'm sorry,' Sherlock apologised, his laughter dying in his throat. 'It's not funny. It's just been such a long time since I've felt this good. Since I've laughed even.'_

_'The one time we're intimate, our daughter walks in on us,' John mumbled from behind his hands. 'God, she must be traumatised. I feel... exposed and filthy.'_

_'One time?' Sherlock questioned, his heart twitching in pain. 'God, I'm sorry,' he gulped guiltily. 'I feel like I've used you.'_

_'Why else would I demand we go to the bedroom?' John said sadly, dropping his hands to the floor. 'I wanted you to take me, Sherlock. I told you what I wanted. And, although you can't remember, try to deduce the last time we were intimate with each other. Go ahead. It must be written all over me.'_

_Sherlock stared at John for a long time._

_'Years,' he muttered. 'It's been years since we've done this.' He smacked a hand on his head. 'I'm a fucking idiot. I should have listened.'_

_John nodded solemnly, wriggling out from underneath Sherlock. He sat up and hunched his shoulders, hanging his head._

_'It's been so long, love,' he murmured. 'I... I almost don't remember what your cock feels like. I feel almost virginal again.' He blinked back tears and glanced up at his husband._

_'If you would... That is, if you're up for it... Would you fuck me into our mattress when we get back from the graduation ceremony? Felicity will be out with friends. Trust me. We'll have the place to ourselves, we'll be able to be as loud as we want. Could you do that for me? Please?'_

_Sherlock pulled John against him. 'I see I've been a shit husband as well as a crappy father. But I'm not going to fuck you.' He paused, studying his husband's fallen face. 'I am going to make sweet love to you.'_

_'Even better,' John smiled, hugging himself closer. He sighed and laid his head against Sherlock's chest, listening to the beating of his heart._

_'Are you two quite finished?' Felicity huffed, hiding behind the archway. 'I'm glad you're making up and all but honestly! We have to be at the school soon! I need to be there early. Valedictorian and all.'_

_'Yes, dear,' Sherlock grinned. 'We're finished.' He helped John up before whispering, 'for now,' down his ear._

_John blushed and cleared his throat. He stood up and straightened his tux, grimacing slightly at the feeling of his cold cum caked in his pants. He grabbed the keys from the counter and looked to Felicity. She was still hiding behind the arch slightly, her eyes wary._

_'You ready to go, sweetie?' John asked her. She merely nodded, heading to the garage and getting into the car. She was so glad the shitty van was gone and her dad had bought a proper car. John sat in the driver's seat, Sherlock in the passenger's. John smirked at his husband as he started the car, buckling in before he exited the driveway and drove off to the high school._

_The journey to the high school was deadly quiet. John's eyes were fixed on the road but Sherlock could tell that he was in deep thought about what had gone on, and Felicity was seemingly distracted by her big day. Meanwhile, Sherlock placed his head against the cool glass of his window and watched the world outside pass him by as guilt consumed him. Oh how he wished things had turned out differently. If only he'd been there for Ben more often, then maybe his son wouldn't have taken a dangerous path. Then of course there was John, the man whom he loved deeply, and yet it seemed had abandoned. Then there was Felicity who didn't want to lose her daddy but knew that it was inevitable. _

_When had things gone so wrong?_

_John stared at the road as he drove, his mind wandering between Benny's choices to Sherlock's actions on the kitchen floor. And then there was Felicity, graduating top of her class, off to Columbia University in July. God, when had she grown up into such a smart, kind, beautiful young woman? He could remember when she called herself a princess, had tea parties with her stuffed animals and occasionally him of Sherlock, wore sloppy pigtails that she did herself, and ran around the house clutching Beary to her chest as he chased after her to put her to bed._

_He glanced in the rearview mirror at his little girl. She looked absolutely beautiful. And while she had kept her blonde locks she had taken to curling them slightly the way Sherlock's did. She had done it today as well, and she looked like an angel. Perfect and beautiful and full of life. She was texting one of her friends, presumably Mary as they were inseparable as of late, and he hoped to god she wasn't telling her what had happened in the kitchen._

_He glanced over to Sherlock, his head resting on the window, the glass fogging up slightly from his breaths. His beautiful, wonderful, lost Sherlock. So many memories gone, so much anger and confusion, so much pain. He wished he could take it all away, fix him like he fixed his patients. But this was an illness of the mind, not the body, and John felt helpless and useless. What kind of a doctor was he if he couldn't even help his own husband get better? Or keep his son off drugs?_

_He sniffled and reached out for Sherlock's hand, lacing their fingers together and holding on tight. He needed an anchor at the moment, to keep him grounded so he wouldn't crumble under his thoughts and emotions. And while choosing a man fraught with emotions probably wasn't the wisest choice, it was the best one._

_Sherlock held on tightly to John's hand and risked a glance over to him._

_'I love you,' he whispered under his breath sadly. 'And I'm sorry.'_

_'I love you too,' John whispered. 'And I'm sorry too. For all that happened in the kitchen.'_

_Sherlock shrugged. 'Oh, I don't know. It wasn't all bad.'_

_John blushed. 'Ok, yeah, that bit was pretty good.' Felicity made a disgusted sound, causing John to blush further._

_'But Ben's behaviour and his harsh words... I'm so sorry about all that.'_

_'I deserved his words,' Sherlock retorted. 'And I don't blame him for his behaviour or the path he has taken. I've been there, remember?'_

_'I know you've been there,' John sighed. 'And you seem to be going down that path again, but with alcohol this time. But we'll get you through this. I won't abandon you.'_

_Sherlock's lips twitched and he nodded._

_'I don't know how I got started on the alcohol, John. It wasn't a planned thing. I must firstly assure you of that. I suppose my first memory of my problem was on the day little Mark was brought home.' He sighed heavily. 'Little Mark, of course, won't be so little now.'_

_He chewed on his lower lip. 'Mycroft knew about it of course. He was the one who I turned to. I don't know why but I can remember that in that moment I felt a longing for my brother to comfort me. I threatened him, said if he told you I'd kill him.' He paused, licking his lips._

_'He said he'd get me help if it continued. I did not anticipate you stopping him. I did not anticipate becoming a drunkard father, husband, brother, and uncle. I'm sorry. I should have sought out your help, but I didn't want to hurt you, or Felicity, or Ben. I didn't want to hurt anyone if I could help it.' He snorted. 'I failed tremendously so on that account, didn't I?'_

_'You never hurt us,' John stated. 'Not physically at least. Your drunken words could sting pretty bad though.'_

_'Dad, don't make Daddy feel bad before my ceremony,' Felicity said, her face still buried in her phone. 'Please. I want him to be there and I want him to be happy.'_

_'Oh, John, I owe you a thousand apologies.' Sherlock rubbed his thumb over his husband's knuckles before turning to face his daughter._

_'I'm fine, Felicity, really. You should stop fighting my battles for me. I'm going to be there, and although I am not perfectly happy with myself right now, I'm happy for you and all the things you have achieved.'_

_Felicity looked up from her phone, smiling softly at her dad._

_'Thanks, Dad,' she grinned. 'That means a lot. Especially since you can't remember much. Do you want me to tell you where I'm going and what I'll be studying?'_

_'I'd love to hear about that, yes,' Sherlock grinned, chest swimming with some emotion he couldn't quite understand._

_'I'm going to New York, in America. Columbia University to study medicine and psychology,' she beamed proudly. 'I would be a doctor but people's insides make me squeamish. So, I'm going to help people in other ways.'_

_Sherlock felt his heart well up and his lips quivered sadly on his porcelain face. Felicity was going into a medical career that involved trying to heal people with psychological problems. He felt his stomach plunge to the ground and his eyes suddenly became distant. He wondered for a moment if he had been her inspiration to help people with such problems. After all, he had enough psychological abnormalities wrong with his mind to spur her on in that direction. He was quick to shake that thought away and drag himself back to the present._

_'I'm proud of you, Princess. You're making your old man really happy right now.'_

_'You aren't my old man,' she pouted. 'You're my dad. And thank you. And before you put yourself in a funk, I didn't want to go into psychology simply because of you. Uncle Myc had a bit part with his bipolar issues. But I want to be able to help people who have psychological issues because the doctors here are shit. They're impersonal and impractical and just plain rude. And when you have mental issues you don't want attitude, you want understanding.'_

_'I am pretty ancient,' he stated, his voice dripping with amusement, a small chuckle forming on his lips._

_'As for what you're doing, I think it's amazing. Not many young people surrounded by others who have... certain aspects wrong with them in their upstairs department,' he pointed to his head, 'Would want to carry on living a life surrounded by more like them._

_'And whereas I agree most doctors are shit they're not all like that.' Sherlock glanced at John briefly. 'You weren't talking about any doctors that saw me were you?' he asked, raising an eyebrow. 'Because believe me, even as a sickly child I brought out the very worst in my doctors. It probably wasn't anything personal. I'm just not a very good patient.'_

_He smiled affectionately at Felicity. 'I'm certain you'll make a wonderful doctor. You're not idiotic for a start.'_

_Felicity smirked. 'Thanks, Dad. That's a great compliment coming from you.' She glanced to John and saw he was wearing a similar smirk._

_'Dad is a great doctor, but he deals with physical maladies. I want to specialise with the mind. And I want to have the patience to deal with difficult patients, like yourself.' She smiled fondly._

_'And I'll be there for you too, either as a doctor or your daughter. If you ever want to talk, I'll be there to listen.'_

_Sherlock shook his head. 'I wouldn't want to burden you with what goes on in my mind. No one should have to deal with that.'_

_'Then you don't have to tell me,' she shrugged. 'Even if you just want to know how my day is going that will be good enough for me. I just want to hear from you while I'm away at uni. And Dad too.'_

_'Of course you'll hear from me,' Sherlock protested. 'Try to keep me away from contacting you.'_

_'Good,' she smiled brightly, shifting forward to clasp her dads' linked hands in both of hers. 'Because I'll be calling you every day.'_

_'I wouldn't expect anything less,' Sherlock returned her bright smile. _

_'Sorry to spoil the moment, but we're here,' John said, pulling into the high school's parking lot. Students in graduation gowns were everywhere, holding onto their caps despite the wind being nothing more than a gentle breeze._

_Felicity glanced around at her classmates, swallowing as she realised that she was going to have to give a speech in front of not only her class but their parents and the teachers as well._

_'Dad?' she whispered, squeezing their hands tightly._

_Sherlock hummed and raised an eyebrow. 'You shouldn't be nervous. You'll do brilliantly, Princess,' he reassured her. 'No need to feel scared.'_

_'I just... I never realised how many people I'd be speaking in front of today until now,' she said softly. 'I've never been one for public speaking.'_

_Sherlock clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. 'Then simply imagine yourself somewhere else, away from all of those people. This is where it's quite handy to have a mind palace. You can lock yourself in there. Nothing can touch you. You should try it.' He paused and glanced away from Felicity. 'You don't know about my mind palace, do you?'_

_He heard John scoff playfully at the term 'mind palace' and shushed him gently._

_'No. No I haven't.' Felicity cocked her head. 'What's a mind palace? How does it work?'_

_'It's a memory technique of mine. You imagine a place within your mind and you put information within it. It doesn't have to be a palace,' he smirked. 'It just makes me feel cooler by saying it is._

_'In theory,' he continued his explanation, 'the technique prevents you from forgetting things. You just have to simply find your way back to them.' His smirk wavered. 'It used to work brilliantly for me before my condition came along. I also used it to hide from reality. If I didn't like what was going on I'd simply resort to hiding within my own mind. I still can do the latter use of my palace with ease.'_

_'Ok, Dad,' Felicity said softly. 'I'll work on creating one. But not today. Today, I'm going to imagine I'm speaking solely to you and Dad. Because, today, you two are the only people who matter.'_

_Sherlock grinned goofily. 'And I'll be hanging onto your every word.'_

_Felicity squeezed their hands again and smiled brightly._

_'I'll be looking for you two in the audience.' She released their hands and exited the car, adjusting her cap and gown before strolling off to the auditorium where the students were meeting before the ceremony._

_'I love you!' she called over her shoulder before disappearing._

_'I love you too, Princess,' John said softly, squeezing Sherlock's hand tightly._

_Sherlock squeezed John's hand back. 'She's done so well for herself,' he whispered, his voice happy yet sad at the same time._

_'She's brilliant, and she's got a good heart,' John smiled softly. 'She's going to be a fantastic doctor.' He looked over to his husband and sighed._

_'I'm going to miss her so much,' he sniffed. 'And she's going to be in America, New York where it can be so dangerous. I'm scared for her, Sherlock. And I don't want to let her go. She's my baby girl, my princess, and now she's all grown up. God.' He sniffled and wiped his eyes free of the fresh tears._

_'We, um. We should go get some seats next to the podium. So she can spot us better.'_

_'She'll make a brilliant doctor!' Sherlock exclaimed. 'And if she's anything like you she'll be able to hold her own whilst in America. We must let her go so that she can grow, John. She seems happy and that's all that counts at the end of the day._

_'Come on, we'll go and seek out some good seats. But firstly–' Sherlock smacked his lips on John's. 'I wanted to do that.'_

_John pulled Sherlock in for another kiss, holding him tight before releasing him._

_'I just wanted to do that,' he whispered against Sherlock's lips. 'Let's go find those seats now.'_

_Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in his seat. 'Will Mycroft be there?' he asked, his voice a little taut._

_'He might be, yes,' John nodded. 'He said he would try to be here. Greg and Mark too.'_

_Sherlock shifted in his seat again._

_'Right, okay,' he muttered, trying to compose himself._

_'Are you worried he's going to try to take you away?' John asked softly. 'Because I won't let him. Not today. He isn't going to ruin Felicity's big day.'_

_'No,' Sherlock quickly corrected John. 'I don't believe he would do such a thing. But you see, the last time I remember seeing him, I was pissed beyond belief. I guess I'm just ashamed and worried about what he must think about me now.'_

_'Oh,' John frowned. 'Well. I wouldn't worry. He's your brother. He doesn't think you're a degenerate or anything. He worries about you, given that he's tried to take you to rehab at least six times already. I just wish I'd known about your promises before I kicked him out every time.'_

_John frowned and sighed. 'At the very least you'll get to see little Mark. He really likes you. Thinks you're funny.'_

_'He was only doing what I instructed him to do, John,' Sherlock said in low voice. _

_He looked at his husband seriously. 'I don't remember Mark. What if I say something wrong?'_

_'He's four, Sherlock,' John said. 'Anything you say is going to be funny to him. You couldn't possibly say something wrong.'_

_'Trust me when I say I'll probably find a way,' Sherlock shot back._

_'Stop that,' John scowled. 'You are a fantastic uncle. You've never been drunk around Mark, you treat him like your own son, and he loves you to death.'_

_'I promised Mycroft that I'd be sober around him. It would seem we've made a good deal of promises to each other lately. As for treating him like my own son I should bloody hope not. For my own son hates me, and for my nephew to grow to hate me too... it would simply kill me.' Sherlock ran a hand through his hair roughly in a spur of self hatred._

_'Sherlock, stop this right now,' John scolded. He grasped Sherlock's hands tightly, holding them away from his head. 'You are not a bad father nor a bad uncle. Ben is angry at you for petty reasons, most of which he may have imagined when he was... high. Um.' He paused, swallowing thickly._

_'Mark is just a toddler. He isn't going to be corrupted by you, he isn't going to go the same way as Benny simply by knowing you. You heard Felicity. He didn't start all that because of you, but because of a girl, which is a whole lot worse. Just stop it. Stop it. Please.'_

_'Stop defending me, John. I know that I have wronged Ben, that I pushed him away, that I wasn't there for him for when he most needed me.' Sherlock's voice was soft and broken._

_'So excuse me if I am a little wary of hurting my nephew in a similar way.'_

_'Then fix it,' John scowled. 'Talk to your son when he comes home. Force him to if you have to. Threaten to turn him in to Greg if you have to.' John released Sherlock's hand and opened the car door._

_'Now can we go to our daughter's graduation now? Preferably with smiles on our faces.'_

_'I'll talk to him. I promise.'_

_Sherlock shot John a sarcastic smile. 'Better?' he asked._

_'Not nearly,' John frowned. 'Here.' He pulled Sherlock in for a soft kiss, threading his fingers in his hair. When John pulled away he had a soft smile on his face. Sherlock had his eyes closed, a small smile twitching on his lips._

_'Let's go,' John whispered._

_Sherlock nodded. 'Let's,' he agreed. When they both got out of the car Sherlock allowed John to drag him to their destination like a small child huddling for safety behind their parent. He swept his eyes over a throbbing throng of students and family and friends alike. The atmosphere was buzzing with excitement and nerves, and he could practically smell the stench of the young people graduating in the air. He faintly remembered his own graduation being similar, but that had been a long time ago. Mycroft had practically dragged him to his graduation and after he could remember things getting blurry. Most likely due to him getting high. He shuddered as he, for one single moment, pictured the same fate for his son._

_John found a row of seats close to the stage but higher up so they would be able to see their little girl easily. Hopefully she'd be able to see them easily as well. He flagged down Greg and Mark, the toddler squealing when he saw Sherlock, his little hands grasping for his shirt._

_'Is Myc gonna be able to make it?' John asked as Greg handed Mark over to a rather reluctant Sherlock._

_'He's going to try, but apparently MI6 can't run anything without him for five minutes. He keeps getting calls about the agents and shit going down. And they all know how important today is for him, but you can't tell criminals not to steal international secrets on your niece's graduation day.'_

_Sherlock cuddled the little boy tightly to him after his initial shock of Lestrade handing him over. Mark was a mini copy of Mycroft with his mop of ginger hair. He sat down, still holding him closely and cooed, completely awestruck by him. John smiled over at Sherlock, his heart warming at the sight of little Mark clinging to his shirt. John raised an eyebrow at Greg and nodded over at Sherlock. Greg turned and grinned widely._

_'Still don't know why he's so enamoured with him,' he whispered._

_'He was worried he'd say something wrong,' John whispered back. 'In his mind, this is his first time meeting Mark.'_

_'Oh,' Greg frowned. 'Well, Mark will probably say something to cheer him up. He usually does. He's four. He thinks everything is funny.'_

_'Sher,' Mark giggled on Sherlock's lap. He reached upwards with his fat chubby fingers and began playing with Sherlock's set of curls. Which was fine until he decided to yank a lock particularly hard. Sherlock whimpered and held back a 'fuck.' _

_'Mark.' He placed a hand over the toddler's. 'That wasn't very nice.' Instead of deterring the ginger haired boy it seemed to make him more curious about Sherlock's curls and he pulled again. Sherlock grunted and glanced up at his husband and Lestrade. A look of help was written on his face. Lestrade heard the grunt of pain and glanced over at Sherlock and his son. Mark had his hands tangled in Sherlock's hair and was tugging rather hard._

_'Mark. Mark, stop,' he said, giving the boy a glare. 'You're hurting Uncle Sherlock. Do you want to have your hair pulled?'_

_'No,' the boy said, releasing Sherlock's curls. He stared up at his uncle, his eyes bright with mischief. 'Fun, fun!' he giggled. 'Say fun-fun!'_

_Sherlock sighed softly and gave Lestrade a grateful look. He turned his attention back to Mark._

_'Fun-fun?' He raised an eyebrow. Mark burst out in laughter and began clapping his hands whilst chanting 'fun-fun' over and over again._

_'Just say a really long word,' Greg explained. 'He thinks your scientific terms are funny. He really likes that long Mary Poppins word. What is it again?'_

_'Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious?' John suggested._

_'That's it,' Greg nodded. 'He likes that. Or any of your science terms. He thinks they're funny. Hence, fun-fun.'_

_Sherlock tried with the Mary Poppins word, but instead of saying it normally he sang it in his deep baritone voice. That sent Mark into another fit of giggles. He clutched to Sherlock with all his might, grinning cheekily up at him. John smiled fondly. Sherlock could remember the Mary Poppins song. He was so glad he could remember that but he didn't understand why. His heart swelled and he blinked back tears. He quickly checked his watch and swallowed. The ceremony would be starting any minute now._

_'Sherlock, it'll be starting soon,' he informed his husband. 'Let Greg have Mark, otherwise he'll be giggling throughout the whole ceremony.'_

_Sherlock pouted but nodded and picked Mark off of him, handing his nephew back to his dad. As soon as he the red haired boy was taken away from Sherlock however he began to scream, lower lip trembling, and face becoming as dark red as his hair. A true Holmes temper._

_'Mark, what's with the tears?' Greg asked softly, cradling the boy to him._

_'Sher,' the boy sniffled. 'Want Sher.'_

_'Uncle Sherlock is right there. You can see him. He isn't going to go anywhere.'_

_'Want sit wif Sher,' Mark sniffled._

_'You don't want to sit with Daddy?' Greg asked._

_'No. Sit wif Sher,' the boy said again._

_Greg nodded. 'Ok, but be quiet. It's cousin Felicity's special day. So be quiet, ok?' He held a finger to his lips, which Mark mimicked._

_'K,' the boy smiled. 'Sher!' His little hands reached for Sherlock's shirt again as Greg passed him back._

_Sherlock wrapped his arms around Mark and went back to hugging the toddler tightly._

_'Love you, Mark,' he whispered, smiling genuinely for the first time that day. _

_'Wuvv you, Sher,' Mark mumbled into his uncle's chest._

_John smiled and wiped a stray tear from his eye. He was so glad Sherlock's fears hadn't been needed. Little Mark loved him. The principle of the school approached the podium and tapped the microphone, letting the audience know the ceremony was starting. John turned his attention to the man, sitting with rapt attention as his daughter's graduation officially began._

_The ceremony was marvellously dull and Sherlock spent most of it staring at Mark. He only lifted his head when his daughter walked onstage. He grinned at her and waved slightly. Mark giggled and copied the action._

_Felicity approached the podium, taking deep breaths to steady herself. She closed her eyes briefly, picturing her parents to calm down. When she opened them she scanned the crowd until she spotted her dads, Greg, and little Mark. Her dad was waving at her, and she smiled back at him. Turning back to the podium, she smiled widely and began her speech._

_Sherlock allowed Felicity's words to wash over him. It was a brilliant, intelligent speech and she threw in moments of amusement too. _

_**She's so much like John.**_

_He couldn't believe that was his little girl up there and it was bringing tears to his eyes. Meanwhile Mark was fast asleep on his lap, a warming sight of its own._

_Felicity finished her speech and looked over to her dads, smiling widely at them. The audience applauded loudly, giving her a standing ovation. John stood and jumped up and down, clapping enthusiastically. Greg stood next to him, applauding loudly and whistling. Sherlock remained sitting until Mark woke up screaming from the noise. Then he stood and held the toddler in his arms as he gave Felicity the praise she deserved._

_Felicity felt tears pricking in her eyes at the sight. She wiped her eyes before reintroducing the principal to begin handing out the diplomas. She sat in her chair in the student section, watching her parents the entire time. Sherlock gazed across to his daughter for the rest of the mundane event, after finally getting Mark to calm down that is. He smiled at her and she smiled right back._

_Felicity's name was finally called and she approached the stage slowly. She didn't want to trip but also because it was finally hitting her that she was leaving high school and entering university life. She took the diploma from her principal's hand, shaking his offered one before walking down the stairs and back to her seat. The final students got their diplomas, the principal announced that they could shift their tassels, and pronounced them the graduating class. The crowd cheered and the students threw their caps in the air, the graduation ceremony officially over._

_As Sherlock clapped and cheered he couldn't help but feel his body starting to shake. It started with his hands and traveled through his whole body. Then came the craving. It was the same craving he'd had four years ago and that terrified him. It was stronger than ever. He could only presume he'd still had alcohol in his system in the morning to stop his withdrawal symptoms. He just hoped he could go without for now and that no one would notice._

_Mark noticed._

_'Sher, shakin!' he squealed, fisting Sherlock's shirt. 'Shakin!'_

_John turned to his husband, his smile faltering._

_'Sherlock? Are you going through withdrawal?' he asked gently._

_Sherlock shrugged but nodded._

_'I'm fine,' he stated, continuing to shake like hell._

_'Shakin!' Mark shouted. 'Shakin!'_

_'Mark! Shush!' Greg scolded. The crowd was thinning as the guests filed away to find their respective student and take pictures. He didn't want them to be overheard that Sherlock was having withdrawal symptoms. It wouldn't be good if they were._

_'But Sher shakin,' Mark said, his tiny brow creasing as his uncle continued to shake and clutch him tight._

_'Yes, Uncle Sherlock is shaking, but everyone doesn't need to know,' Greg said, shaking his head. He saw how tightly Sherlock was clutching onto his son, and it was helping with the shaking, but he didn't want Sherlock to crush Mark either. So, for the time being, he let Sherlock hold his son until it was time to go._

_Sherlock closed his eyes, nuzzling Mark lightly. His breathing had become uneven and he felt nauseous from the tremors wracking his body. What little colour was in Sherlock's cheeks was draining quickly and a thin sheen of sweat was beading on his skin. He needed some alcohol and fast._

_No._

_He had to stay sober for Felicity. Not just for Felicity but his whole family._

_'Are you going to be alright, love?' John asked softly. He placed a hand on his shoulder and sighed when he realised just how powerful the quakes were rippling through his body._

_'We still have pictures to take, then we'll be going home. I don't know how long that will take.'_

_'Dear me. Has my little brother gone into withdrawal?' Mycroft suddenly jeered from behind John. The shorter man groaned and turned to the elder Holmes._

_'Not now, Mycroft,' he growled. 'And definitely not here or today.'_

_Sherlock lifted his head to greet his brother. He didn't bite the bait Mycroft had thrown at him, didn't reply with a sarcastic remark, didn't sneer. He simply stared at him, looking on at him helplessly. He told his brother all he wanted to say with his eyes. _

_**Why didn't you help me, Croft? How can you just leer at me when I sought out your help? You should have helped me. Why did you listen to John? Why didn't you take me away and lock me up, brother? **_

_**Why?**_

_Mycroft sighed and looked at his little brother._

_'I am sorry, dear brother, for not keeping my promise,' he apologised softly. 'But your husband was very adamant in refusing my taking you. But as today is such a grand day, I would not wish to spoil it by talking about this here. Shall we sit down and talk when you are home?'_

_Sherlock nodded lightly. He most certainly didn't want to ruin Felicity's big day because of problems he had caused himself. He would just have to struggle through and hope his withdrawal symptoms wouldn't worsen. _

_'Sher.' Mark placed his little hand on his uncle's cheekbones. 'Sher, sick?' he asked curiously. _

_Sherlock hummed, snuggling the four year old to him. 'I'm fine,' he said softly, more to reassure himself than the toddler._

_Mycroft ran a hand through his son's ginger hair, sighing at how caring he was at only four._

_'Give Uncle Sher a kiss,' he whispered in his son's ear. 'And a tight hug. They always make him feel better.'_

_The boy giggled, his hands hitting Sherlock's chest gently._

_'Want kiss, Sher?' he asked. 'Give kiss. Make better.'_

_Sherlock smirked briefly. 'Go on then.' He pointed to his cheek with a long, boney finger, hugging the toddler tightly._

_Mark clasped Sherlock's face tight as he planted a loud and sloppy kiss on his uncle's cheek. He snuggled into his chest and clutched tightly to him._

_'Better, Sher?' he asked._

_'Much,' Sherlock said, feigning a smile before glancing gratefully over to his brother._

_Mycroft nodded at him, offering him a small smile._

_'Uncle Myc! You're here!' Felicity called, running over to the group. She hugged him tightly before stepping back. 'When I didn't see you in the audience I was afraid you hadn't made it.'_

_'Nothing could have stopped me from being here,' Mycroft said softly, kissing the top of her head. Felicity smiled and moved to hug Greg, then John, pausing when she reached Sherlock and Mark._

_'Hi, Dad,' she smiled softly. She noticed his shaking but her smile never faltered. 'Did you like my speech?'_

_Sherlock let out a choked chuckle._

_'It was beautiful sweetheart. Like the woman who was presenting it.' He stood to his feet, holding Mark tighter as to not drop him. His legs shook as he took the step towards his daughter but that didn't stop him from enveloping her in a hug._

_'I'm proud of you.' The hug was gentle and brief as Mark was stuck in the center and Sherlock had to resort to sitting once more. He practically fell onto his seat but his smile was still wedged on his face nevertheless._

_'Thanks, Dad,' she grinned. She turned her smile to Mark and knelt down to his level._

_'Hi Mark! Did you get to sit on Uncle Sher's lap today?'_

_'Yeah!' he grinned enthusiastically. 'Sher say fun-fun! Sher shake! Fun-fun!' Felicity frowned slightly but still managed to smile. She ran a hand through his ginger hair, the boy calming almost instantly._

_'I'm sorry about that, Dad,' she whispered. 'I won't keep you here for long. Just long enough to get pictures and then I'm going out with my friends. Feel better, ok?'_

_'It's fine, princess. I'm fine.' Sherlock knew however that no matter how many times he told himself or others that that it wasn't true. At the moment he was far from fine. Felicity nodded, clasping one of his hands and rubbing circles on it. Gallifreyan like he taught her._

_'You don't look good, Dad,' she whispered. 'Let's get some pictures now so you can go home.' She gestured to John, capturing his gaze. He nodded, pulled out his camera, and walked over to the two of them._

_'Just a few pictures to put on the wall and then we'll go home, ok?' John asked. 'I don't want you to start convulsing out here.'_

_Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'I'm hardly going to start convulsing, John.'_

_He pulled an arm around Felicity's waist and gave her a gentle smile. 'Let's make them good ones, yeah?'_

_Felicity smiled and sat in Sherlock's lap, pulling Mark onto hers. The little boy grasped her hair while snuggling into Sherlock's chest._

_'This will be a great one,' she whispered, kissing her dad's cheek as John snapped the first picture._

_Sherlock grinned at her as the camera flashed brightly._

_'I love you, Princess.' Mark gave a little huff and pouted. 'I love you too, Mark.' He ruffled his nephew's hair. He shuddered as the memory of doing the exact same thing with Ben as a boy spread through his mind._

_'Hey, Uncle Greg, could you take Mark? I'd like to get one of just me and Dad, then with both my wonderful dads.' She smiled at John, resting her head on Sherlock's shoulder. Mark gave a huff of protest and Felicity ruffled his hair._

_'I'm sorry little Mark,' she said softly. 'But can I have my daddies please? You can go to yours, ok?'_

_The toddler looked as though he was going to scream again. Sherlock shook his head and leaned forward to whisper something in the boy's ear. Mark looked at him with his big eyes._

_'Ok, Sher.'_

_Sherlock nodded at Lestrade. 'You can take him now. He won't kick up a fuss.'_

_Greg looked at him incredulously, especially when he picked Mark up without the boy crying and throwing a fit._

_'Holy cow, Sherlock. What did you say to him?'_

_'A magician never reveals his secrets.' Sherlock gave Greg a lopsided smile._

_'You may need to share it with me sometime,' Greg laughed, shifting Mark so his head was on his shoulder. 'May come in handy around bedtime.'_

_'Oh, I'd love to Greg. However that wouldn't be as amusing for me. And I do love to be amused,' Sherlock teased. Greg just laughed, bouncing Mark slightly when he gave a little squeal of protest. Felicity clutched onto her dad, smiling into his neck._

_'You're fantastic,' she told him. 'And I love you.'_

_'I'm really not,' he responded morosely, hugging her a little tighter. 'I'm really not,' he repeated._

_'Shhh,' Felicity hushed him, pressing her face against his neck. 'Shhh. Yes you are. You are my daddy and I will always think you're fantastic.' She hugged him tight, kissing his neck gingerly. 'I love you so much, Daddy.'_

_Sherlock smiled as John snapped another picture. 'And I love you, Princess. I love you more than you could probably ever comprehend.'_

_'Same here,' she whispered, hugging him tight. 'Dad, get in on this father-daughter action.' She waved to John and grinned. John smiled at her and handed the camera to Mycroft, sitting down next to Sherlock and pulling Felicity's legs over his lap. Sherlock moved so he had one arm around his husband's shoulders and the other around his daughter's._

_'I love you both so much,' he told them, kissing them both on the base of their necks before turning to face the camera. John and Felicity smiled at the camera as Mycroft clumsily took a photo. He took a few more before passing the camera back to John. John stood and kissed Sherlock on his head, helping Felicity up and giving her a kiss as well._

_'We'll get some shots with Myc and Greg and then your dad and I are going home, ok?'_

_'Ok, Dad,' Felicity nodded. She turned to Mycroft and smiled at him. 'I'm so glad you could make it.'_

_'Me too, my dear. Although I'm afraid I missed the beginning of your speech. But I loved what I heard.' He wrapped an arm around her waist and pressed a kiss to her forehead. John snapped a picture before Myc could protest. He took a few of Felicity with Greg, with both Myc and Greg, and then some with her and little Mark, the boy giggling and squealing in glee. Sherlock sat in the background, watching, just watching. He watched his family, so happy, so gleeful, laughing, squealing. It was beautiful, blissful, and almost sickeningly sweet. He wished he could join in, laugh along with them, smile, but he couldn't._

_He felt painfully ill. He'd been through withdrawal symptoms before, but with drugs. He can't remember the withdrawal stage ever being that bad though. Maybe it was because he hadn't been dependent on the drugs and it would seem he was dependent on the alcohol. With the drugs it had been a matter of fitting in for a change, but with alcohol consumption it was a way to drown himself of his sorrows, to forget that he was forgetting, to sweep his worries under the carpet. Or maybe it was because he wasn't young anymore and his body was coping with it poorly. Either way he felt like shit._

_'Ok sweetheart,' John sighed, looking at Felicity with soft eyes. 'Sherlock and I are going to go home. Go have fun with your friends. And, congratulations. I'm so proud of you.' He pulled her in for a tight hug, kissing her cheek before releasing her rather reluctantly._

_'Thanks Dad. I love you.' She kissed him back and moved to hug Sherlock tight. 'I love you too, Daddy. So very much. I'm glad you made it.'_

_'I wouldn't have missed it for the world, Princess.' He managed to steady his voice so it only trembled slightly. He rubbed a hand on her back gently and released her with a small sigh._

_Felicity gave Sherlock a soft smile, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. She hugged John, Greg, and Mycroft before flitting away to join her friends. John said goodbye to Myc and Greg, running his hand through the sleeping Mark's hair._

_He turned to Sherlock, who looked pale and ill and was trembling in his seat. 'Let's go home, love,' he said softly._

_Sherlock held out a hand to John. 'Help me,' he said in a pathetically small voice._

_John nodded, grasping Sherlock tightly and hauling him to his feet. He looped Sherlock's arm across his shoulders, his own going around Sherlock's waist. He helped him back to the car, easing him inside before getting in himself. He started the car and drove off toward home._

_Sherlock's head hit the window with a heavy thud and he groaned. 'I feel like hell,' he complained, continuing to shake in his seat._

_'I know, love,' John shushed. 'We'll be home soon and we can get you in the bath. Okay?'_

_Sherlock managed a small grin and eyebrow wriggle. 'I'm looking forward to that "bath."'_

_John blushed and smiled. 'It's for your health,' he laughed. 'Whatever happens outside of that bath will be for mine.'_

_'I don't know if I could last until we get out of the bath,' Sherlock stated. 'I'd want to make love to you then and there.'_

_'My back might not be able to take that,' John frowned. 'Unless, of course, I was laying on you instead of under you.'_

_'You make it sound so clinical, John,' Sherlock sighed. 'Just go with the flow. I'll be gentle and mindful of your back. I have back problems too so I'm hardly going to play it rough. Especially with my withdrawal symptoms.'_

_'We could just skip the bath altogether and go right to the love making,' John offered. 'A post-coital bath might not be so bad.'_

_'Yes,' Sherlock hummed, letting his head drop back to the cool glass window. 'It would be far more comfortable I imagine.'_

_'Ok,' John nodded, suddenly anxious to get home. He focused on the road, occasionally glancing over at Sherlock to make sure he hadn't fallen asleep. Sherlock barely moved for a while, and when he did move it was to glance at John to ask him a question._

_'Why, John?' He didn't elaborate, just those two words._

_'Why what, love?' John questioned, looking over at Sherlock._

_'Why?' Sherlock repeated softly. 'Why did we stop being intimate? Why didn't you allow my brother to take me to get help? Why hadn't you brought up my problem before now in conversation? Because I saw you this morning in the kitchen. You looked as though you were in denial. Why did you simply ignore it for almost four years? Just, why?'_

_'I don't know,' John sighed. 'To everything. I don't know why we stopped being intimate, I don't know why I didn't let Mycroft take you away to get better, I don't know why I never brought any of this up until today. I honestly and sincerely don't know, but I can tell you this.' He paused and swallowed, turning his attention back to the road._

_'I love you too much to just let you go like that. Because the way Mycroft worded things was like you weren't going to come back. And... And I wouldn't be able to see you.'_

_Sherlock looked over to John sadly. 'You may not have. That's what I instructed him to do: take me away if I became a danger to myself and the children.'_

_'But you weren't dangerous,' John said softly. 'You were depressed. You've never struck out at us, never tried to hurt yourself. I saw no danger. Or, I refused to. But now I realise that you need help, love. And I'm so sorry for putting it off for so long.'_

_Sherlock nodded in understanding. 'I'm guessing from my withdrawal symptoms this is the longest I've gone without even a sip,' he mused. 'And I must have been drinking a hell of a lot. I was a danger, John.' He licked his lips nervously. 'And I still am.'_

_'I came to the same conclusion about your withdrawal,' John nodded. 'And I'll let Myc take you to a proper facility soon. It may not be today, or tomorrow, but it will be soon. I promise.'_

_'How do I last till then?' Sherlock asked, his voice almost forming a whine. 'I can't go without a drop for that long. I won't be able to stand this withdrawal for much longer.'_

_John closed his eyes and sighed. He should have realised that._

_'I know, love. I know,' he whispered. 'I... I know this is probably going to be the stupidest thing I've ever said but... God dammit.' He opened his eyes again and looked to Sherlock._

_'I'll let you drink but I'm going to monitor you the entire time.'_

_'Thank you,' Sherlock sighed in relief. 'If that weren't the case I may have gone a little overboard.'_

_'I won't join you, though,' John clarified. 'I should stay sober for your sake. And are you going to have to have something before the love making begins?'_

_'Of course. I understand that perfectly,' Sherlock said. He wouldn't want John to join him. He wasn't going to risk getting John into the alcohol as well. He held his hands out in front of him and studied them carefully. It was fascinating to watch them shake. It was as though they were possessed._

_'I think it would be wise to have some alcohol intake before we do anything. I barely feel human at the moment.'_

_John nodded, pulling into their driveway and parking. He exited his side and moved to help Sherlock out of his, holding him like he did at the high school._

_'Let's get you inside and get something in you,' he grimaced. 'As much as it pains me to say it, you need a drink.'_

_'Yes.' Sherlock slumped heavily against John. 'I really do need some,' he whimpered softly. 'We have some in, right?' he asked hopefully._

_'You're the alcoholic, Sherlock, not me,' John said, opening the door and shuffling inside. 'I don't know where you hide your stash. Sorry.'_

_Sherlock groaned. 'As I told my brother four years ago: I do not have a stash.'_

_Why did this have to happen to him? He was craving alcohol like a child craves candy. He wanted it so bloody badly, no, he needed it. He wanted it racing through his veins, clearing his clouded head, wiping away his nausea. He scrunched his eyes shut and for a moment indulged in the image of lots and lots of bottles of alcohol spread across his bed, ready for him, calling his name._

_'Sherlock, how could you possibly not have a stash?' John asked incredulously. 'With how severe your withdrawal symptoms are you must have a pretty sizeable stash.' He helped Sherlock up the stairs to their bedroom, Sherlock slumped against him the entire way. He opened the door to the bedroom and stopped in his tracks._

_A wide array of alcoholic beverages lay across their bed._

_'John?' Sherlock murmured, opening up his eyes to see why his husband had suddenly frozen. When he saw the bed littered with a unbelievable amount of alcohol bottles he exhaled sharply._

_'Oh. Now that is fascinating,' he whispered. It was exactly how he'd imagined it. Exactly. _

_'This isn't how I left the room at all,' he told John, whom was looking both befuddled and blank._

_'Where... What... How the hell did those get here?' he asked sharply. 'They sure as shit weren't here when we left this morning.'_

_'No. No they weren't,' Sherlock frowned. 'You have to believe me, John. I would never leave such a large amount of alcohol out in the open. I'm not a complete idiot.'_

_'I believe you, Sherlock. Really, I do,' John muttered. 'I just don't understand how they got here.' He moved some of the bottles and sat Sherlock on the bed. He gazed upon the bottles, ranging from gin to vodka to whisky. He sighed and gestured to the alcohol._

_'So, where do you want to start?'_

_'Vodka,' he replied without hesitation. 'No, wait, whisky. No–' He groaned and threw his hands up in frustration. 'Just chose for me.'_

_John sighed and grabbed a bottle of Jack Daniels, passing it over to Sherlock rather reluctantly. Sherlock opened the already used bottle of whisky and raised it to his lips, practically moaning in pleasure as the cool liquid began to gush down his throat. John looked on as Sherlock chugged the whisky, his entire body visibly relaxing as the alcohol went down his throat. John hated that he was allowing this, all his medical training screaming at him to stop this and get Sherlock the help he desperately needed. And why was he allowing this to happen? So he would get shagged for the first time in almost three years. Sherlock continue to gulp the alcohol down greedily. His withdrawal symptoms had long disappeared. He just simply didn't know how to stop._

_'Ok Sherlock, I think that's enough,' John said softly reaching for the bottle. Sherlock growled and wriggled away from John, clutching the alcohol to his chest._

_'No,' he stated stubbornly._

_'Sherlock, don't you dare start with me,' John growled. He grasped the neck of the bottle and pulled._

_'No, no, please,' Sherlock begged, yanking the bottle away from John's hands. He knew he sounded like a complete child but he didn't want his alcohol to be taken from him. It was his instinct to fight John on this matter._

_'Sherlock, you've had enough to quell your withdrawal,' John said, yanking back on the bottle. 'I will not allow you to get pissed so quickly. Whatever happens after we make love is up to you. But right now, I'm stopping this here.'_

_He yanked harder, the bottle slipping from Sherlock's grasp. John grabbed the others as well and set them on the floor by the wardrobe._

_'For today, I don't care how much you drink. But starting tomorrow you're quitting. And I'll bring Myc in on this too.'_

_'Fine!' Sherlock snapped irritably. 'Isn't that what I tried to do in the first place? It isn't my fault it got to this stage!'_

_He grabbed John's wrist tightly, pulling him down on top of himself. He flipped their positions, pinning John down to the mattress angrily, rubbing every inch of himself over John with frantic force._

_'I'm sorry, Sherlock! I'm sorry!' John cried, tears escaping down his cheeks. Where the hell had those emotions come from? Oh, right. Sherlock was an alcoholic and John had stopped Mycroft from getting him the help he needed and now he was giving him the demon drink simply because he wanted to get laid._

_What the fuck was wrong with him?_

_He struggled against Sherlock's weight, but he was stronger than him these days. He stopped fighting, going limp in Sherlock's grasp, surrendering to his drunken rage. Sherlock kissed John's neck greedily, looming over him possessively. One hand shot to his lover's belt buckle and did quick work of unfastening his trousers, the other held fast to his small hands._

_'I wanted help, John!' Sherlock yelled. 'I needed help!' He slipped his hand down his husband's boxers and squeezed his member painfully hard. _

_'I – needed you to let me go,' Sherlock stumbled over his words. 'Why? Why, John? Why? Was that so hard?'_

_'Because I loved you too goddamn much to let you go!' John screamed, both in pain and anguish. 'You're my husband! We made a commitment to each other, for better or for worse! And you just expect me to forget that and toss you away?! Gah! Fuck!'_

_Sherlock was groping him too tightly, he was so angry, and John regretted everything. Not letting Myc take him when he knew he needed it, not being there for Ben when he needed a dad, for being so damn focused on Felicity that his marriage was just about shot to hell, and now for giving Sherlock a drink simply because he wanted a shag. John hated himself, he hated himself so much._

_'I expected you to do just that.' Sherlock pulled John's boxers down and pressed two fingers at once into John's entrance. He chowed down on his husband's pale neck, sniffing him aggressively. 'It's ok, John. You'll get your shag, no worries.'_

_'I couldn't just abandon you like that!' John cried out, Sherlock's fingers dry and painful as they pushed in. 'I... I don't want... Not like this!'_

_'Don't worry, John. I've got you,' Sherlock whispered brokenly. 'I'm not going to let anything happen to you that you haven't made you're quite certain you want.' Sherlock pushed his fingers in deeper. 'I love you.'_

_'It hurts,' John sobbed. 'Want you to make love to me, not rape me.'_

_Sherlock pulled back and frowned, suddenly deadly pale and alert._

_'What?' He was trembling once more but for entirely different reasons than before._

_'I want you to make love to me, not rape me,' John repeated quietly. 'And you're drunk and angry and I don't want it like this.'_

_'I didn't... I wasn't... Oh god.' Fat and ugly tears wriggled down his face. 'I'm sorry.' He buried his face in his hands. 'I'm so sorry.'_

_John curled in on himself, pressing his face into the sheets. He wanted to comfort Sherlock but he wasn't sure Sherlock would accept it, nor did he want Sherlock to hurt him again._

_Sherlock risked a look at John and burst into more tears. 'Why do I have to fuck everything up? This was supposed to be nice. But then again it's the nice things I seem to fuck up the most.'_

_John swallowed his sobs, clenching his eyes shut and pressing further into the sheets. He wanted to scream he was sorry until his lungs were sore, he wanted to tell him that they would fix things, wanted to tell him he would finally get him the help he desperately needed. But he was too scared to open his mouth and let out the sobs threatening to burst forth._

_'I'm sorry,' Sherlock sniffed. He crawled up to John. 'Can we try again? I promise to be gentle this time.'_

_John sucked in a deep breath, swallowing his tears. He wanted to try again, he really did. The rational part of his brain said not to, but he had been ignoring his rational side ever since he gave Sherlock that bottle. He nodded slowly, turning to look at his distressed husband._

_'Can we try some kissing first?' he asked in a small voice._

_Sherlock nodded, gently clambering on to John. 'Shhh,' he hushed him when he let out a whimper. 'I promise you I'm not going to hurt you.' He leant forwards and kissed him softly._

_John whimpered when Sherlock's lips pressed softly to his, trying not to shrink back. When his brain realised that Sherlock wasn't hurting him he tangled a shaky hand in his husband's curls, kissing him a little deeper. Sherlock hummed and placed a hand over John's, kissing him faster and harder. He rocked his hips a little as an experiment to see how far John was prepared to go at the moment. John relaxed further as Sherlock kissed him, sighing in content when his hand laced with his and it didn't hurt. When Sherlock began rocking above him he let out a loud moan, arching his hips to meet Sherlock's. Sherlock took that moan as a good sign and so his rocking intensified. He parted his lips, begging for John's tongue. His one hand squeezed John's in his curls, his other skimmed down his husband's chest. John's hips rocked with Sherlock's, his tongue tentatively searching for Sherlock's in a soft greeting. His hand grasped Sherlock's curls tightly, his other wrapping around Sherlock's waist and holding him tight. Sherlock groaned as John's tongue shyly connected with his. He shifted himself carefully above John. He took the hand around his waist and placed it on his straining erection. John squeezed lightly, moaning as he felt his husband's cock pulsing in his hand. He sucked Sherlock's tongue into his mouth and squeezed a little harder, loving how responsive Sherlock was. Sherlock practically yelled into his lover's mouth before breaking free, gasping for air like a fish out of water._

_'Clothes off,' he managed to grunt._

_'Yes sir,' John moaned, his fingers scrambling to unbutton Sherlock's shirt. God, he needed his cock so bad. John shoved the shirt off Sherlock's shoulders, his mouth going to suck on his collarbone as his hands began undoing Sherlock's trousers._

_'No. Don't call me that,' Sherlock said, sighing as his clothes were taken from his body. 'I don't deserve that title.'_

_'Oh. Ok,' John mumbled, shucking Sherlock's trousers and pants down and off. 'What, um... I suppose I'll just stick with "love" then?' He took his own shirt off and tossed it to the floor._

_He and Sherlock were now completely naked. John hadn't felt so exposed in years._

_'Yes, dear. "Love." I like being called that.' He began to kiss his way down John's body. 'Please, forgive me. I have been a fool,' he apologised softly. 'A drunkard idiot. Please?'_

_'I forgive you, love,' John whispered. His body squirmed as Sherlock kissed his way down his chest. 'I'll always forgive you. And I suppose that makes me a fool as well.'_

_'Yes it does,' Sherlock agreed softly. 'My fool. Always my fool.'_

_'Willing to follow you everywhere,' John mumbled, his body shuddering as Sherlock made his way down his stomach. 'But with a few smart exceptions. Like the alcohol, and following you into the dark.'_

_He gasped as suddenly Sherlock's mouth was right above where he wanted it to be, his body pushing itself closer. He could almost feel his cock reaching toward Sherlock's chin._

_'No more sad stuff,' John gasped, his hips thrusting minutely. 'No speaking except for good things.'_

_'I don't think speaking will be a problem,' Sherlock retorted, licking John's member teasingly._

_John gasped and whimpered, his entire body shaking as Sherlock's warm, wet tongue explored his member for the first time in years._

_'Been so long,' John groaned. 'Might not last. More than one go? Please?'_

_'We'll see, we'll see,' Sherlock tutted. 'Patience, my dear Watson.' He slowly swallowed John's erection, hollowing out his cheeks and panting harshly._

_'Oh Jesus fucking Christ!' John cried out. He turned his face into the pillow beside him, muffling his cries into it. His hips moved slowly, thrusting in and out in small movements, not wanting to hurt Sherlock. Sherlock sucked harder and forced John to slide deeper down his throat. He purred like a cat, fixing his insanely blue eyes on John, willing him to cum._

_'Feels good,' John moaned, gritting his teeth at the immense pleasure. 'Warm-fuck!-tongue, pretty mouth. You have a pretty mouth, love.' He risked glancing down and squeezed his eyes shut, the sight of Sherlock's mouth and blown pupils boring into him sending him over the edge with a harsh cry._

_Sherlock spluttered slightly as John came down his throat. He pulled back and grinned at the sight of John so overcome with pleasure he couldn't even keep his eyes open. He cautiously moved up his husband, stopping when his thick and throbbing erection was swaying over John's face. John didn't even need to open his eyes to know what Sherlock wanted. He could smell him, feel the head of his cock hanging just above his own lips. John opened his mouth, his eyes still closed, and his tongue reached out, caressing the head of Sherlock's cock with light flicks and licks._

_'Oh!' Sherlock yelled. 'Oh fuck. Fuck.' It would seem John was right about how long ago they had last done this from the way his cock felt as though it was going to explode. John grasped Sherlock's hip and pulled him down, his husband's cock sliding into his mouth with ease. He would probably need to change position to be more comfortable, but for now this one worked. He worked his tongue around Sherlock's prick, sucking occasionally but preferring to tease him with his tongue. He sucked a little more inside before he decided moving might be best. He didn't want to choke after all. He nudged Sherlock's hip to let him know. Sherlock lifted himself out of John's mouth with a disgruntled sound ripping from his own throat. He reached down and cupped himself experimentally to see how close he was._

_'Fuck,' he moaned. 'Move quickly.'_

_John sat Sherlock on the edge of the bed, spreading his thighs wide as he sunk to the floor. He pumped Sherlock's cock a couple times before engulfing it, swallowing it, immersing it in the wet heat of his mouth. He could tell Sherlock was close, could feel it in his pulse and see it in how tight his sac was. He bobbed furiously, sucking and licking until he felt Sherlock trembling, and not from withdrawal this time. Sherlock shot forward rather harshly, felt his body flail, his rigid cock pumping liquid down his husband's throat, and time stand still as he screamed John's name. John spluttered slightly when Sherlock shoved himself down John's throat. But as soon as he felt his seed gushing down he moaned obscenely. God damn it had been too fucking long. He glanced up, observing in almost slow motion. Sherlock's body was shaking but pure pleasure was written all over his features. His head was thrown back, his mouth open in ecstasy but no sound came out. His hands gripped the sheets tightly, knuckles white. And his curls bounced as he shuddered, dancing across his shoulders._

_He was beautiful. And he was John's._

_Sherlock still rocked in and out of John's mouth even after he'd finished grunting. He was almost instantly hardening again. He hummed._

_'You–' he gasped. 'Are amazing.'_

_'And you're bloody gorgeous,' John breathed, licking his lips of stray seed. He moved up Sherlock's body and kissed him deeply, letting him taste himself as they fell against the mattress._

_Sherlock raged war on John's lips, pushing a hand through his scraggy mop._

_'Are you ready for me?' he asked softly, breaking free. 'Because I'm ready for you.'_

_'Get me prepped and then you can have me,' John whispered, kissing him softly again._

_Sherlock nodded, eyes a little sorrowful, knowing that John was quite nervous after his first attempt of preparing him. He slicked one finger up and carefully prodded his husband's entrance. John grunted and hid his face in the crook of Sherlock's neck. He was nervous, yes, but he wanted it so badly. He pushed back just a bit, letting Sherlock know it was ok. Sherlock pushed his digit into John, curling it and finding his prostate with years of expert ease. John's grunt turned into a delicious moan against Sherlock's neck. He pushed back against the finger, begging for more, kissing and sucking Sherlock's neck. His body rocked against Sherlock's, telling him 'more, more, please, more.'_

_'I think I get the message,' Sherlock laughed, pulling his hand back to lick up two more fingers. He then slowly worked them all in. One and push; two, push and twist; three, push and stroke John's prostate._

_'Oh, fuck!' John moaned, pushing back against Sherlock's wondrous fingers. 'Please, please. Need you, love. Need you inside.'_

_'Finally,' Sherlock said with a goofy grin, removing his fingers and aligning himself with John perfectly. 'I want you to cum as fast as possible, ok? I want to know that I did that to you.'_

_'I'll try,' John nodded, pushing back against Sherlock's prick. 'Fuck me. Fuck me, please.'_

_Sherlock pushed forwards with a loud, waning groan._

_'Good boy,' he praised his husband._

_John whimpered and pushed back, moving his hips in a steady motion to get accustomed to having Sherlock up his arse again. Jesus, it had been too fucking long since he'd had anything up his arse. He'd tried, he had really tried, but nothing could compare to his husband's perfect cock. So he'd stuck to wanking in the shower, sometimes in the bed when Sherlock was passed out downstairs. Now that he had it again he didn't want it to be over so quickly. But Sherlock had asked him to cum as quickly as possible, so that's what he was going to try to do. He sat up slowly, dragging his hands down Sherlock's chest, tweaking his nipples as they passed. When he was straddling his husband he began to rock back and forth, easing himself into it. He lifted up slowly, slowly, before sliding back down and impaling himself on his cock. He let out a harsh cry and did it again, and again, and again, his cries louder each time. Sherlock rocked up into John, faster and faster. The current pace was far too slow for the curly haired brunette. He stared at John, mouth hung open, nostrils flaring with the effort of the usually simple task of breathing._

_'Close.' He puffed out his cheeks and made his pace even more relentless._

_'Yes, yes!' John cried, moving faster, impaling himself harder. 'Close too. Touch me, please. Fast and hard. Want to cum so bad. Please, love, please.'_

_Sherlock grabbed John's member gingerly before beginning to move his hand up and down as fast and as hard as he could manage._

_'Oh. Oh god. Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck!' John cried, fucking himself on Sherlock's cock and in his hand. 'Yes! Yes! Fuck me! Oh... Oh shit... Gonna–'_

_John came all over Sherlock's hand and torso sharply, his hips continuing to rock and his mouth hung open as he screamed Sherlock's name. Sherlock swallowed John's scream with a kiss. It wasn't long until his own scream rippled through the kiss and he came deep within his husband. Ripples of pleasure and bliss flowed through John as Sherlock came deep inside him. He managed to shift his hips as Sherlock continued to cum, kissing him deeply as the post-orgasm shudders began. Sherlock shook with the sheer power of the orgasm that had ripped straight through him. He whimpered and nuzzled his head against John whilst he rode it out._

_'That's it, love,' John crooned. 'Cum for me. Cum in me. Yes. Yes, love. Oh, you feel so good. I'd forgotten how good you felt up my arse.'_

_'A horrible injustice,' Sherlock said through a groan. As he came to a standstill his eyes widened and a strangled cry broke free._

_'Shh, love, shh,' John said softly, carding his fingers through his curls. 'I've got you. I'm here.'_

_'Sorry,' he gasped, his breathing finally normalising._

_'It's alright, love,' John whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead. He held him tight, nuzzling against his neck._

_'I love you.'_

_'And I love you. I hope some of my actions today haven't caused you to forget that.' Sherlock nuzzled John back._

_'No. But our previous action certainly reaffirmed it,' John smiled, inhaling Sherlock's scent. He didn't know which was more powerful, the smell of sex or alcohol._

_'I'm thankful for that,' Sherlock replied, his voice a mixture of happiness and worry. 'I wasn't at all in a good mindset earlier so I would hate for you to judge me.'_

_'I would never judge you,' John whispered, placing kisses along Sherlock's jaw. 'I would be disappointed maybe, but I would never judge you.'_

_Sherlock sighed. 'But I hate making you disappointed.'_

_'I'm not particularly fond of the feeling myself,' John mumbled, placing a deep kiss on his pulse on his neck._

_Sherlock moaned. 'I've disappointed you now though, with the alcohol.'_

_'Yes. And I've disappointed you by not letting Myc get you help,' John said, nipping at his earlobe._

_'It's not your fault. I promise to keep you in the loop with my brother and I from now on,' he spoke gruffly._

_'Alright, love,' John sighed, sucking on Sherlock's neck. He threaded his fingers through Sherlock's curls, humming in content._

_'Can we have that bath now?' Sherlock whimpered under the divine powers of John's mouth._

_John hummed, swirling his tongue around the small mark he'd left._

_'Will you make love to me and not fuck me while we're in it?' John purred, rutting against him to gauge how aroused he was._

_Sherlock nodded, shivering against John's tongue. 'Yes, I'll make love to you,' he said, groaning softly._

_'You go ahead. I just need a minute to myself, ok?'_

_'Don't take too long,' John whispered, kissing him softly before sliding off the bed and heading into the bathroom. He started the bath, making sure the water was hot before plugging the drain. In the back of his mind he wondered if leaving Sherlock alone was a good idea. Was he going to collect his thoughts? Or was he going to drink more? John stared at his reflection as the mirror fogged, his being becoming blurry before being consumed entirely._

_Sherlock waited till he could hear the gush of water filling the bath before getting up on wobbly legs. His body was pounding with the urge for more alcohol. His craving was like a bug bite that he couldn't quite itch and it was infuriating him. He glanced over to the array of alcohol hatefully. Why did his body have to overrule his mind? His mind was the more powerful of the two, surely? And yet his mind was telling him to stop and just go to John but he knew that as he took a step towards the alcohol his body had won._

_He picked up a bottle of whisky and raised it to his lips, swallowing the liquid as quickly as possible before he could feel the shame of his actions. He gulped down as much as he could. Part of him wished to be caught. God he'd give anything to be able to stop and since he wasn't able to stop himself he wished John would._

_John turned off the tap and looked to the door. Surely Sherlock should have arrived by now? John frowned and headed for the door, knowing what Sherlock was doing but hoping he wasn't._

_He was._

_John opened the door to find Sherlock sitting on the floor, chugging a bottle of whisky like his life depended on it. John frowned and sighed, moving over to him cautiously. The last time he'd taken away Sherlock's alcohol had had severe consequences._

_'Sherlock,' he said softly but firmly. 'Sherlock, stop. Stop, right now. Please.'_

_Sherlock looked at John with huge eyes, still slurping the alcoholic beverage at a frighteningly fast pace. His hands shook and he felt horrid as he tried to stop himself._

_He couldn't._

_'Don't lash out at me this time,' John said softly, grasping the bottle of whisky and doing his best to take it away. Sherlock had a death grip on it and was a lot more resistant this time around._

_Sherlock struggled to remain calm as John tried to take his alcohol from him._

_'No,' he grit out. 'I need it.'_

_'No. You don't need it. You want it. And those are two very different things,' John clarified, grasping the bottle with both hands. 'Now you need to stop. Please, love. Please.'_

_Sherlock let John take the bottle. His lower lip trembled and his eyes began to tear up. John set the bottle down slowly, his heart breaking at how distraught Sherlock looked. He pulled him in for a soft hug, rubbing comforting circles into his back._

_Sherlock shook in his husband's arms. 'I couldn't stop myself. I'm sorry.'_

_'I know, love. I know,' John whispered. 'But you did let me stop you. And I'm so proud of that fact.'_

_Sherlock nodded into John's shoulder. 'How much did I consume?' he asked shakily._

_John looked down at the bottle and frowned._

_'More than half,' he sighed. 'And it was apparently a new bottle.'_

_'Fuck,' Sherlock swore loudly. 'I've gotten myself pissed.'_

_'Yeah, I can tell,' John grunted, bearing most of Sherlock's weight as he swayed where he stood._

_Sherlock let out a drunk laugh. 'I feel funny, John.'_

_John rolled his eyes and shifted slightly, bracing himself against Sherlock's weight._

_'Alcohol tends to do that, yeah,' he grumbled._

_Sherlock laughed again. 'I feel... horny.' He ground himself against John, laughing all the while._

_'Alcohol can do that too,' John grunted, trying and failing to swallow down a moan. 'But... You're drunk. And I don't... don't want to make love to you like this. I want you to be able to remember what we did.'_

_'That's pointless, John.' Sherlock continued his actions. 'I'll forget it sooner or later. We might as well. The bath has been run after all.'_

_John groaned. He loathed Sherlock's drunk logic sometimes, but this was not one of those times._

_'Ok. Ok, you have a point,' he agreed. 'Let's just soak in the water for a bit before we start anything though.'_

_Sherlock yelled out gleefully, his grinding speeding up frantically._

_'Of course I'm right. When am I not?'_

_'You're always right, love,' John groaned, clutching tightly to Sherlock as he ground against him. 'Even when you're utterly pissed.'_

_Sherlock brought his cupid lips to John's throat and growled. 'I want you, now, this instance.'_

_'Oh god, yes,' John moaned, tilting his head back so Sherlock could reach more of his neck. 'Take me. Take me now.'_

_'Come, John. To Atlantis!' He swooped up his husband and staggered into the bathroom. John laughed, clutching to his husband as he brought them into the bathroom._

_'I hear Atlantis is beautiful this time of year,' he murmured softly._

_'I've heard that too, but nowhere near as beautiful as you,' Sherlock said, ever the charmer even when pissed. He placed John into the bath before practically falling into the tub himself with a huge splash. John squealed, barely managing to move away in time. Sherlock had landed rather harshly, and water had flown everywhere._

_'Sherlock? Are you ok?' John asked, voice heavy with concern._

_Sherlock blinked at John before bursting into giggles, clapping his hands together wildly._

_'Again! Again!' he whooped._

_'No!' John yelled hastily. 'No. Sorry, but no. You are not five, and I don't want you to hurt yourself. Let's just take our bath and go to bed.'_

_Sherlock waded himself over to John, straddling him the moment he reached him._

_'You're such a bad pirate, John.'_

_'I'll take that as a compliment,' he grinned. His hands slipped under the water, sliding across Sherlock's hips to his arse and squeezing._

_Sherlock grunted. 'You should.'_

_He hummed in thought. 'Do you know who you remind me of?'_

_'Mmm. No,' John moaned, rocking against him. 'Who do I remind you of?'_

_'Beary,' Sherlock groaned. 'You're all snuggly and I hug you in secret when I'm sad.'_

_'You... You still have Beary?' John asked, pausing his movements._

_Sherlock nodded and frowned. 'I can remember hugging him on many occasions. I believe I keep him in the back of my wardrobe.'_

_John smiled fondly, resuming his actions._

_'It is an honour to be compared to Beary,' he whispered, a finger fluttering across Sherlock's entrance. 'Although, I don't think Beary would do anything like this.'_

_Sherlock stiffened and a shiver rippled up his spine. 'No he most certainly wouldn't.'_

_'I would be concerned if he did,' John murmured, swirling the pad of his finger around the puckered hole teasingly._

_'It's bad enough that he talks,' Sherlock mused to himself._

_John paused, his finger stopping just as he was about to push it in._

_'B-Beary talks to you?' he asked in a small voice._

_'That's not normal, is it?' Sherlock questioned, then frowned. 'Why have you stopped?'_

_'No. No, that's not normal,' John said. He swirled his finger again, slowly. 'What kinds of things does he say?'_

_'Those conversations are private.' Sherlock's face darkened but he quickly moaned and wiggled back on John's finger._

_'Ok, love. I understand,' John nodded. He slowly eased his finger inside Sherlock, curling it slightly when it pushed in all the way._

_'Now that I think about it though, it's not so abnormal for you,' he mused, pumping his finger teasingly. 'You would often talk to your skull, but if it talked back I'm not so sure.'_

_'Don't be ridiculous, John. Inanimate objects don't speak. Beary's alive, so that's why I have two-way conversations with him.'_

_Sherlock leant his neck back and purred. 'Oooh, that's good.'_

_**Beary's alive? Oh dear. He's worse off than I thought.**__ John frowned but continued pumping his finger. He added a second, easing them inside and curling them slightly as he moved them in and out._

_Sherlock gasped. 'Fuck - yes he's alive - gah - ahh.' His mouth became slave to the sounds John was making escape them._

_**When did Beary being alive start? Questions for another time, John. Not important right now.**_

_John shook his head and focused on his fingers, twisting and pushing and pulling. He loved the delicious sounds he was drawing from Sherlock, drinking them down as he pulled him into a kiss. He slowly eased in a third finger, stretching Sherlock further and gently stimulating his prostate. Sherlock moaned into the kiss and pushed downwards as far as he could go._

_'Like that, don't you?' John purred, gently dragging his fingers across Sherlock's prostate in a steady motion. 'Like my fingers, my dirty boy? Do you want my cock, dirty boy? Do you?'_

_Sherlock snarled and bared his teeth, nodding, eyes darkening in volume. 'Let me be your dirty boy, John.'_

_'Mmm, yes,' John growled, pumping his fingers faster. 'My dirty boy has been very naughty. Very naughty indeed. And you need to be cleaned up. What shall we clean first, hmm? That dirty, filthy mouth? Or this pretty little arsehole I just happen to have my fingers shoved inside?'_

_'I'll take any punishment in this current moment in time.' Sherlock leant in and kissed John's lips. John ravished Sherlock's lips, nipping and sucking and occasionally biting. His fingers worked torturously in Sherlock, pumping and curling and stroking until his husband was a trembling mess._

_'Are you ready for my cock now, dirty boy?' he whispered down Sherlock's ear. 'Because my cock is certainly ready for you.' He shifted against Sherlock's thigh, letting him feel his engorged cock against him._

_Sherlock's entire body was shaking with pleasure. His drunken mind could hardly keep up with the sheer mass of feelings tingling in his very being. When John shifted beside him to show his current predicament Sherlock gasped loudly. He had to place a firm hand on his husband's shoulder just to keep himself steady._

_'You have no idea how much I need this, John.' His voice was filled with devastation. 'I want you to make me feel better. Please do that.'_

_'Of course, love,' John nodded, abandoning the little game they had been playing. He pulled Sherlock in for a soft kiss, removing his fingers slowly. He positioned his cock and eased the head inside, going slowly until he was buried completely._

_The movements were slow and gentle at first. Both parties took their time to explore the other's body. John eased himself in and out, learning Sherlock all over again. He moved slowly, languidly, making love instead of fucking._

_'This should have been our first time,' John mused. 'Slow, learning each other, taking our time. Making love to each other, not fucking while trying to work off a drug.'_

_'I never wanted it to play out like it did,' Sherlock said in a hushed whisper into John's neck, rocking back and forth. 'I wanted you to be the one to make the first move. I wanted you to choose me. _

_'I thought I'd missed my chance with you when I made my marriage status with my work perfectly clear. I never did state that it was an open marriage. But then I never thought I'd meet someone like you. I didn't think I deserved to be loved.' Sherlock took a deep breath as he glided a hand down his husband's chest. 'I still don't deserve to be loved.'_

_'That's rubbish and you know it,' John pouted, a hand trailing up to cup Sherlock's cheek. The other clutched at his hip, helping them move._

_'Everyone deserves to be loved, even sociopaths. We accept the love we think we deserve, but you didn't. You chose me, accepted my love, and I can honestly say I love you a lot more than you deserve at times.' He paused, suddenly realising that Sherlock had remembered. But... Hadn't he lost those memories?_

_'Sherlock... Did... Can you remember our first time together? Because I thought Moriarty's drug erased all your memories of us.'_

_'I...' Sherlock blinked, cocking his head up to stare at the blank ceiling. 'I think I may have just uncovered a memory,' he laughed joyously._

_'It was just a glimpse of our past but it felt so good to delve into that memory.'_

_'Can you go further?' John asked, urging him on. 'Delve into your mind palace and connect the dots?'_

_Sherlock closed his eyes in deep concentration._

_'Bear with me. I may be gone a while. Don't get your hopes up though. I'm surprised to see even that much of our past. Especially with my dementia, the damage the drug did to my brain, and of course we can't forget to factor in that I'm pissed. It's a long shot._

_'Don't stop making love to me, John. I'm still here. Just not on the outside.' He opened the entrance to his palace and stepped inside._

_'Let me know all you remember,' John said softly, moving his hips again. 'I want to know everything.' He sealed his lips against Sherlock's pulse, rocking into him steadily._

_Sherlock began to wander through the marble hallways of his palace. He was searching for a room. John's room. The room that contained every scrap of information about his husband. When he found the room he saw to his dismay that it was cluttered and dusty beyond belief. He hadn't ventured into this room for a very long time. His eagle eyes scanned it all until he came across one word that, although lacked importance, seemed significant in finding any wandering memories._

_Pink._

_'Pink,' he spoke out loud._

_'Our first case together,' John answered, his hips moving faster now. 'The pink lady, the cabbie, the pills. I shot him for you and we'd barely known each other more than a day. "A Study in Pink" I called it. Go on. Explore.'_

_Sherlock panicked as memories randomly began to crash over him. It was like trying to read every book in a library at one time. Impossible. _

_A sharp cry ripped from his throat._

_Their first case setting their relationship in stone. A shock blanket. Their first night as flatmates. Now that had been interesting. _

_More and more moments tumbled onto him. The violence. The quiet. The discussions about common human knowledge. The solar system? Gah, unimportant. John trying to convince him to care. Sherlock snapping at him because he was starting to care too much about him. Slowly falling into the trap of love whilst watching John date woman after woman. Boredom mixed with anger. Self made drugs._

_Their first time... _

_'Make it stop!' he roared until his throat was red raw. 'Oh god, please, make it stop.'_

_Moriarty._

_'Sherlock? Sherlock what's wrong?' John panicked, sitting them both up and holding Sherlock's face in his hands. 'Talk to me, love. Let me help. What's wrong?'_

_The memories splurged in his mind palace, flooding John's room to the brim and threatening to overflow it. _

_'Make them stop!' Sherlock howled in agony as the memories crushed him from the inside out._

_'How, Sherlock? Tell me how!' John cried, panicked as he couldn't stop Sherlock's pain._

_'I don't–' Sherlock choked, '–think you'd approve of me chugging more alcohol.' He just about managed before his screams began to get manic and inhuman._

_'Approval is one thing,' John said, removing himself from Sherlock and stepping out of the water. He turned Sherlock around so he wouldn't fall face first into the water. 'But a lot of doctors don't approve of their patient's medication.'_

_He dashed out to their bedroom, grabbed the first bottle he saw, and ran back. He opened the bottle and handed it to Sherlock._

_'I don't approve of this at all, but it's for the betterment of my patient.'_

_Sherlock's hands quaked as he swallowed more and more of the liquid that had been handed to him. The vein in his neck bulged as he tried to bring himself to calm down._

_He couldn't._

_His pain wasn't something he could shrug off. All he could do was hope the alcohol would numb it, and soon._

_'Take a break, love. Just a quick one. Just to breathe. Please,' John begged. He hated seeing Sherlock like this, hated seeing him so lost and scared and confused, having to turn to alcohol to quell it all._

_Sherlock removed the bottle from his lips and took a huge, painful breath. 'Oh god–'_

_The bottle slipped from his hands and landed in the bath with a sploosh. _

_'Fuck.'_

_He couldn't breathe. It hurt. It hurt so much. He could feel himself slipping down into the water. He couldn't do anything to stop it._

_John grabbed Sherlock under his arms and hauled him out of the tub, sitting him on the floor with his back propped against the tub. He left the bottle in the water though; it had probably emptied anyhow._

_John sat next to Sherlock and held into him tightly._

_'What's going on, love?' he asked softly. 'What hurts?'_

_'My head feels like it's imploding,' Sherlock's voice broke. He stared at John but he wasn't seeing him. He was seeing the past._

_'Too many memories at once?' John guessed._

_Sherlock nodded lightly. 'Far too many,' he sobbed, clawing at his eye sockets._

_'Stop. Sherlock, stop.' John grabbed Sherlock's hands and pulled them away from his face. 'Would dealing with all these memories be easier if I sedated you? So you can sort through your mind palace without so much pain?'_

_'No!' Sherlock panicked._

_'It's one thing dealing with this whilst I'm awake!' he exclaimed loudly. 'But handing myself to those memories via sleep would be like... death!'_

_He tugged his hands out of John's vice like grip. 'Just sit down and shut the hell up!'_

_John swallowed and nodded, flexing his hands before deciding to sit on them. He stared off into space, trying his best not to think in case Sherlock would hear him._

_Sherlock felt the current in his mind push him through another door. This room was different to John's. It was darker and suppressed in the very back of his mind. He could just about make out a figure lurking in the darkness._

_He gasped as the figure revealed himself._

_'Papa?' His voice was tiny, reverting to a childlike state._

_**'Hello Freak.'**_

_'Papa. Please go away. I'll be good. I'm sorry for being bad, Papa. I don't mean to be a freak. I'll try to stop.'_

_**'But you are, son. You're the biggest freak I've ever come across. And nothing is going to change that.'**_

_Sherlock called out to his older brother. Surely Mycroft would save him._

_'Croft!' he screamed. 'My!'_

_No one came._

_'Why don't you come help, My?' he whispered. 'Why did you leave me with him. I hate you Croft!'_

_John desperately wanted to pull Sherlock from the dark, pull him away from the memory of his father, tell him he was fine now and he was ok. But Sherlock had told him not to interfere, to be quiet and let him work through his memories. It pained John to do so, but Sherlock needed to do this. Maybe then he would remember some things about their past._

_John drew his knees up to his chest, pushing his eyes into his knees and sobbed silently. He wanted to help so much, but the only help Sherlock would accept was his silence. So John would give him that much, only interfering if Sherlock became tormented or violent._

_Sherlock jumped abruptly to his feet, his hands clenched into fists so tightly his knuckles were ghostly white. _

_He tried calling for his brother again. 'Croft! I'm not fucking joking! Get back here!' he snarled. 'Get back here you coward!'_

_John's head shot up, staring at Sherlock wild eyed. He's calling for Myc? Why Myc? Oh. Their father. Shit._

_'Croft!' Sherlock screamed at the top of his lungs, staggering forwards drunkenly. 'Come back! Don't leave me, please. He'll kill me. Croft!'_

_'Sherlock,' John whispered. 'Sherlock, Myc isn't here. Neither is your father. You're home, with me, your John. Your father is dead. He can't hurt you.'_

_'But he can,' Sherlock swallowed down hard, taking another tottering step forwards. 'And he still does!'_

_Sherlock set his two pools of watery blue on John. 'Why did Croft leave me to die? Why did Croft let me suffer? Doesn't he give a fuck?'_

_'He can only hurt you now if you give him the power,' John said softly, staring into Sherlock's foggy eyes. 'He can only hurt you mentally, and you're letting him torture you._

_'And Myc didn't give up on you. He didn't abandon you. He tried to help you, he did. I just wouldn't allow him because he was going to take you away from me. And I'm not ready to let you go.'_

_'I didn't mean that!' Sherlock shouted, stamping his foot. 'I meant why did he leave me alone to suffer via our father's cruel hands? I could have died!'_

_'He left to get you help,' John explained softly. 'He left so he could stop your father from hurting you and your mother bit just took him longer than he initially thought.'_

_'Help?' Sherlock snorted. 'That fat bastard did nothing but leave me to suffer. I fucking hate him!' He almost tripped over his own two feet as he strode to the bedroom. He stopped in the doorway._

_'I missed him,' he muttered. 'I missed him so badly.'_

_John stood and followed Sherlock to the bedroom, watching him carefully._

_'He put your father away for what he did to you,' he said softly. 'I think that was the biggest favour he'd ever done for you.'_

_'My father escaped.' Sherlock walked over to the bed and dropped down onto the mattress._

_'True, but he was locked up for the better part of your life,' John mused. He followed Sherlock to the bed and sat on the edge. 'But Myc stopped him. Granted, he had my help, but he stopped him. And he allowed me to kill him.'_

_'I just wish to see my brother,' Sherlock said, ignoring John. His voice shook. 'I'm so fucking turned on right now,' he added, completely changing subject._

_'Well,' John laughed softly. 'Those are two very opposite sides of the spectrum. Which do you want to do first?'_

_'I wish for you to finish off what you started,' Sherlock mumbled into the mattress. 'Then get Croft for me. Please?'_

_'Of course, love,' John murmured. He leaned down and placed kisses across Sherlock's shoulders. He pulled his phone from his trousers and quickly sent a text._

_Sherlock wants to see you. Be here in 30 minutes. No more, no less. –JW_

_He then went back to kissing down Sherlock's back, nibbling at the flesh just above his arse._

_Sherlock wiggled his arse in the air and hummed._

_'Thank you, John,' he thanked his husband through a moan._

_'You're quite welcome, Sherlock,' John replied. His tongue poked out and prodded at Sherlock's already stretched entrance, delving inside._

_'Ooof,' Sherlock spluttered, shuddering at the wonderful sensations John was causing him to feel._

_John purred, his tongue lathering Sherlock's hole with saliva liberally._

_'Stop toying with me!' Sherlock yelled into his sheets. 'You know what I want so give me it!'_

_'Settle down your highness,' John growled, tonguing his hole more before pulling away. 'I have to prep you and myself. Plus, I gotta get it back up. So calm down.'_

_'Just hurry,' Sherlock exhaled loudly. 'I need you.'_

_'I know, love. I know,' John sighed. He eased his fingers inside Sherlock and closed his eyes, concentrating on the noises Sherlock was making while also trying to get his erection back._

_Why? Why now? he cursed his prick. Stupid son of a bitch. Why can't you stay up? Your dysfunction is not appreciated nor welcome at this moment in time. Now, I swear to the god I don't believe in, if you don't get up and aroused right now I'll cut you off myself._

_Surprisingly, his prick listened to the threat. It was probably also Sherlock's delicious moans and whimpers of arousal and need that spurred him on as well. Either way, John was aroused as fuck and he needed to pound Sherlock into the mattress, and soon. He licked his palm and slicked his prick, removing his fingers and replacing them with his cock._

_'On your knees, love,' he ordered. 'Please.'_

_Sherlock heaved himself onto his knees with a loud, sexually frustrated grunt._

_'Oh!' he breathed. 'Gah!' John was beginning to move in and out of him frantically._

_John pounded himself into Sherlock, his thrusts harsh and relentless. He moved fast and hard, his prick aching from lack of use and his rough movements. He grit his teeth and moved harder, looping an arm around Sherlock's waist to hold him up, his other laced with one of Sherlock's on the sheets and squeezed tightly._

_'John, ah, harder,' Sherlock moaned deeply as his husband seemed to take his sexual frustration out on his arse._

_'Touch me,' he begged. 'Grope me hard.'_

_John thrust faster, harder, his flesh slapping against Sherlock's with a satisfying smack. His hand on Sherlock's squeezed tighter, almost to the point of pain. His hand on Sherlock's waist moved to grasp his prick harshly, squeezing tight but not moving. If Sherlock wanted friction he was going to have to beg._

_Sherlock cried out and began trying to fuck John's hand._

_'Not fair,' he whimpered. 'Touch me properly.'_

_John stopped moving altogether, grinning maliciously. He leant close to Sherlock's ear, his prick easing out just so._

_'Beg for it,' he purred, drunk off his frustration and the power he held over his husband in their current position. 'Tell me how much you need it. How much you want my hot, aching prick to fuck you with no mercy. How much you want my hand to wank you until you cum screaming. Tell me. Tell me now.'_

_'I want you to make hard love to me. I want you to show my cock and arse no mercy. Please, please,' Sherlock begged, almost in tears._

_John didn't speak; he just resumed his actions, harder and faster than before. He pounded Sherlock's arse at an unforgiving pace, leaning over him and having to prop himself up on his toes to fuck him properly. His hand squeezed Sherlock's cock tight, wanking him as hard and as fast as his cock was fucking his arse. His own cock throbbed and ached, begging for both more gentle actions and a much needed release. He gave it neither, wanting to bring Sherlock over the edge screaming before he lost control himself._

_Sherlock was a mess and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't compose himself. His entire body shook, sobs ripped from his throat in time with the beat of John's thrusts. Sherlock's heartbeat was on the verge of being dangerously fast and it hurt to breathe. And then he arched upwards and in one sharp movement began to cum. His orgasm was frighteningly long and drained his body of all its energy. He collapsed in a silent heap. Not speaking. Not moving._

_John continued to pound into Sherlock at a relentless pace. His hand dropped Sherlock's cock as soon as it began to soften, moving back to hold him up by the waist. He desperately wanted to cum, needed it, wanted it, but his cock refused. He thrust harder, trying to get himself the release he so rightly deserved. Sherlock quivered around him, post-orgasm shakes travelling through him as John continued to stimulate him. Why couldn't he cum? Why? He thrust faster, his prick throbbing in Sherlock's arse painfully. He was close but not close enough. What did he need to do in order to cum? Sherlock was deathly silent, so he was no help. That needed to change. John's free hand released Sherlock's and grasped his curls instead, yanking back hard so Sherlock's head was pulled back and off the mattress._

_'Say dirty, filthy things to help me cum,' he growled. 'No more of this silent crap. Otherwise I'll continue to fuck your arse until it's painful for the both of us.'_

_Sherlock stared into John's eyes, a bright smirk on his face. 'Having a little trouble are we?' he asked cheekily. 'I feel offended. Look where you are, John, what you are doing. And yet that cock of yours is useless.' He laughed loudly and teasingly. 'Is my arse no use to you?'_

_John yanked painfully hard on Sherlock's curls._

_'Yes, if you must know, my cock is useless,' John growled, fucking Sherlock harder. 'I have erectile dysfunction and it's hard and rather painful for me to get it up and find release. So you better fucking help me get there or I swear to god, Sherlock, that I will pull myself out and wank myself to completion. And we both know that you want me to cum in your arse. Now use that talented tongue of yours and help me!' He punctuated his words with sharp thrusts of his hips that hit Sherlock's prostate and caused the former detective a pleasurable sort of pain._

_Sherlock looked a little startled at his husband's words and instantly tilted his head back more to kiss his husband's lips fiercely albeit awkwardly. He tried to help John out by pushing backwards and clenching his arse cheeks. God he felt so guilty. He'd had his release and here John was struggling to even come close to receiving one._

_'I said speak, Sherlock,' John growled. 'Although I appreciate the arse clenching, it wasn't what I asked for. I want as filthy and dirty as you can manage. Now.'_

_'How about, if you don't stop ordering me what to do with my own mouth, I'll have you on the kitchen work tops begging for mercy thrice,' Sherlock snarled, still clenching his arse cheeks._

_John stopped moving, swallowing down hard. He hung his head, resting his forehead against Sherlock's shoulder blade. He released his grip on his head, his hand falling limp at their sides._

_'I'm sorry,' he whispered. 'I'm really sorry. I'm just so frustrated and angry at myself. And my cock is a worthless piece of shit and I need to cum so bloody bad. Fuck!' He squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to breathe._

_'I... I want your help. Please. Help me cum. Please,' he said softer than before, less demanding._

_Sherlock nodded grimly. 'Get out of my arse and I'll suck you off. I doubt your cock would be able to resist my mouth.'_

_John nodded and pulled out, settling against the sheets._

_'I'm still sorry for bossing you around,' he said softly. 'And for being so rough. If I hurt you... I'm really, really sorry.'_

_'It's fine. You didn't hurt me,' Sherlock lied through his teeth. He was in pure agony from where John had taken out all his frustrations on him._

_He crawled to John and clasped John's red raw member in his hands, massaging it with his fingertips to try and stimulate it a bit before he took further action, not wanting his throat to take the beating his arse had because John was frustrated._

_'Now let me see what I can do for you, dear.'_

_'Do whatever it takes, love,' John mumbled, feeling guilty about his frustrated actions._

_Sherlock sighed and nodded again. 'Please refrain yourself from fucking my throat like a wild animal.'_

_He lifted John's legs and arse in the air and began to slowly tease his husband's member with his tongue._

_'I-I... I'll try,' John stammered, straining not to rut his hips closer to Sherlock's tongue. 'Oh, Jesus Christ, fuck!'_

_'Shhh,' Sherlock hushed him, swallowing his husband whole._

_'Gah! Fuck!' John groaned, fisting his hands in the sheets._

_Sherlock moaned, bobbing his head fast and with no mercy._

_John grunted and panted harshly, forcing his hips to stay still. He arched his neck back, his head digging into the mattress. He shifted slightly, changing the angle Sherlock reached, crying out at the immense pleasure._

_Sherlock scraped his teeth along John's member, teasing him, provoking him, almost bullying him into cumming._

_'Oh god. Oh fuck. Oh Jesus.' John moaned, writhing frantically. 'Close. Close. Please. Oh fuck, please.'_

_Sherlock growled, sucking him as hard as he could. He raised a finger and traced John's entrance faintly._

_'Yes! Yes! Please!' John begged, pushing against Sherlock's finger._

_Sherlock inserted his finger slowly and began to stroke John's prostate, hollowing out his cheeks as he did so._

_**Come on, come on, please. **_

_He begged for it to make John cum. He was exhausted and in pain from having to lean on his arse to suck John, and right now his head was still fucked with his past memories and his veins were racing with stupid emotions that made him want to scream and cry. John grit his teeth and moaned, feeling his release approaching._

_'Close. Close,' he muttered, shifting his hips slightly. 'Oh. Oh god. Oh fuck. Gonna... Gonna–' He screamed as he finally found his release, spurting into Sherlock's mouth and throat almost angrily. Apparently even his cum was sexually frustrated. He continued to pulse down Sherlock's throat in thick, painful spurts, only collapsing against the mattress after Sherlock milked him of every drop._

_'Fuck,' he muttered, staring at the ceiling._

_Sherlock crawled onto John, pressing every inch of his body to his husband's and wrapping his arms tightly around him. _

_And then his sobs broke out._

_And not only that. He was incredibly and irritatingly hard and aroused again._

_'I'm sorry, love. I'm sorry,' John whispered, carding a hand through Sherlock's hair. 'I wish I could help, I really do. For both situations you're currently in. But I don't have the stamina I used to to help with your arousal, and I don't have a psychology degree to help with your mind. So, just cry it out, ok love? Just cry.'_

_Sherlock buried his head in the crook of John's neck and sobbed loudly. His head hurt, his body ached, and his arousal wasn't going to go anywhere anytime soon._

_John just held on to his husband, stroking his hair and nuzzling into his curls now and again._

_'I'm sorry, love. I'm so sorry,' he whispered. 'I feel so helpless not being able to do anything to help you. I want to help, I do, but I don't know what to do.'_

_'Hand,' Sherlock grumbled, grabbing hold of John's hand and placing it over his arousal. 'Please.'_

_'Ok,' John said softly, moving his hand gently before grasping hard. He groped Sherlock tight, moving hard and fast, twisting around the head before plunging back down._

_Sherlock nodded and groaned against John's neck. 'That's nice,' he murmured. 'Thank you.'_

_'Welcome, love,' John murmured, groping tighter and moving faster._

_'Go ahead and fuck my fist,' John purred, wanking just a bit faster. 'I know you want to. Go ahead. Fuck my pretty little fist that can barely wrap around your thick, fat, long cock.'_

_'You're in such a dirty mood,' he grinned against John._

_He began to slowly move in and out of his husband's tiny fist. He didn't want to move too fast because if he did his arse would surely protest more than it already was._

_'If this is what I can do to help then I'm not gonna do it half arsed,' John said, pulling against his husband's cock before resuming his normal actions. 'Do you have any requests?'_

_Sherlock hummed in thought before speaking. 'Tease the hell out of me. I don't care what you do. Just tease me. Only stop when I tell you to or when I cum. Whichever comes first.'_

_'I meant any verbal requests, but this works too.'_

_John stilled his movements, wanking Sherlock agonisingly slow. Sometimes he would focus solely on the head, sometimes just on the base, and then his free hand trailed down to Sherlock's sac and played with those._

_Sherlock's eyes bolted wide and he yelled out, 'Gah! More! Do that again!'_

_'Which bit, love?' John smirked. 'Twisting your head?' His hand travelled up and twisted around the head, gathering the precum that had formed and coating the rest of Sherlock's cock with it._

_'The base bit?' he asked again, wanking hard and fast at just the base of his cock._

_'Oh. I know what you mean now,' he smirked. His thumb circled around one of Sherlock's balls teasingly. 'You want me to play with these.' He rolled them in his palm, squeezing each one only slightly before pulling on one and hearing it snap against Sherlock's flesh upon its release._

_'Is that what you want my dirty boy?' John purred. 'Do you want me to play with your balls?'_

_'Yes, god yes! Do that!' Sherlock exclaimed loudly, placing a kiss on John's skin in thanks._

_'As you wish, my love,' John purred, wanking Sherlock slowly whilst rolling his husband's balls in his other palm. Sherlock really seemed to like them pulled, so John grabbed the other one and let it smack against Sherlock's flesh. He grinned at the obscene sound it made._

_'Is my dirty boy feeling good?' he purred again, rubbing Sherlock's balls against the heel of his hand. They were drawing tighter to his body, so he must be close to cumming._

_'Yes doctor! I feel bloody, fantastically close.' Sherlock arched up in the air with a loud wolf cry._

_'Then cum for me my dirty, dirty boy,' John crooned. He wanked Sherlock faster and grabbed his balls tightly in his palm, squeezing and pulling them until he felt them tighten as Sherlock found his release. Sherlock barked for joy as he began to cum in hot strips over John's hand and both their stomachs. _

_'Yes!' he panted. 'Oh god yes!'_

_John worked Sherlock through his orgasm, pulling his balls tight before releasing them with a wet smack. He continued to wank him fast and hard until Sherlock was shaking yet again. He released his cock and brought his hand up to his lips, licking the cum off it._

_'Thanks for helping me with that.' Sherlock curled up in a ball on John's lap. 'Now we just have to figure out how to deal with my mind.' He rubbed at his painful skull that held his overflowing mind. 'It's really starting to hurt again.'_

_'I may be able to provide insight to that,' came a familiar voice from behind the door. John paled and swallowed. Had he heard everything?_

_'You did say thirty minutes, did you not?' Mycroft asked, still lingering outside the closed door. 'And I do believe it's taken you an extra fifteen beyond our initial time. Now, what is going on in my little brother's head that is causing him such pain?'_

_Sherlock coiled further in on himself on John's lap and shuddered, at a loss for what to do or say. _

_He sighed heavily. 'Give us a minute, Croft,' he just about managed to say. His voice was weak and strained and his entire body shook._

_'I'll be in the sitting room,' the elder Holmes said, taking his leave._

_John was too mortified to speak. It was one thing to get caught as a teenager, but as a sixty-year-old married man? He thought their situation was worse. A lot worse._

_'Come on,' Sherlock muttered, unfolding himself from John's lap and getting to his feet. His legs wobbled beneath him from over use of alcohol in such a short space of time, the massive war raging in his mind, his sore arse, and the plain embarrassment he felt because his brother had most probably been listening to his and John's activities._

_He tottered over to the wardrobe and plucked out a pair of Dalek print pyjama bottoms, shoving them on quickly. He turned to the alcohol and froze, fighting the urge to pick it up and drink it. John sat up and rubbed his face, embarrassed beyond belief. What all had Myc heard? Would he ever live it down? He sighed and shifted off the bed pausing when he saw Sherlock staring at the alcohol, his entire body seeming to vibrate. John gingerly stepped forward and placed a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, guiding him back to the bed and away from temptation._

_'Stay here, ok?' John said softly, looking into Sherlock's glassy eyes._

_'Okay,' Sherlock managed a reply, staring down at his feet in an attempt to keep his cravings at bay._

_'I'll get you some water when we get downstairs. I know it won't be the same, but it will hydrate you.' He moved to the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of TARDIS print pyjamas and yanked them on. He found a stray t-shirt and pulled that on as well. He found one for Sherlock and helped him into it._

_'Ok. Go slow, alright?' John said softly as he helped Sherlock up. 'I don't want you to trip and fall down the stairs.'_

_Sherlock grunted in reply, leaning his entire body weight on John, and taking one shaky step at a time._

_John's leg protested against Sherlock's weight, the muscle spasming as he attempted to walk and hold him up._

_'Love, love you're going to have to ease up on leaning on me,' John grunted, managing to open the door without them falling to the floor in a heap. 'My bad leg is starting to protest and I don't want us to fall.'_

_'Sorry.' Sherlock positioned himself so only a bit of his weight was leaning on John. His own legs threatened to give way but he pushed on. They took the stairs slowly, one at a time. John's leg was still protesting but he managed to get them to the first floor without much trouble. They shuffled into the sitting room, Mycroft sitting in one of the plush chairs twirling his pocket watch around his fingers._

_'I'll be with you in a moment,' John said, sitting Sherlock on the sofa. 'Just need to get some water in this one. Do you want anything?'_

_'Some Earl Grey would be nice,' Myc said, still twiddling with his watch. John nodded and padded into the kitchen. He turned on the electric kettle and poured a glass of cold water for Sherlock. He leaned against the counter and breathed deeply. The kettle boiling in the background was soothing, and John calmed considerably. He set out two mugs, placing a bag of Earl Grey in each and pouring the boiling water into each mug. He carried the two mugs in his good hand, the glass of water in the other._

_He headed back to the sitting room, letting Mycroft grab his mug before passing Sherlock his water. He sat on the sofa next to his husband, sipping at his tea idly._

_'So, why did you want to see me?' Mycroft asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence. Sherlock shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he glanced onwards at his brother._

_'I started to remember things,' he said softly. 'Memories involving John at first. Our first meeting... along with other things.' He grasped his glass in two shaking hands and gulped at the water it contained. It didn't have the same calming effect as the alcohol but it helped a little._

_'And then I slipped into the memories I suppressed as a child.' His voice cracked. 'I came across a particularly painful one.'_

_He forced himself to keep his eyes open. 'The day you left the manor house father decided he'd give me a victory beating to celebrate the fact you were gone. I believe I nearly died several times that night. I screamed for you till my throat was so dry I couldn't speak. Of course, I knew it had been useless. You were long gone. You wouldn't hear my screams.' Silent tears trickled down his face but he continued._

_'And now all I can see when I close my eyes is him. And I just needed to see you. So–' He shook his head, wiping at his tears. 'Sorry for wasting your time with my issues again, Croft.'_

_Mycroft swallowed his tea and set the mug aside. He listened to Sherlock's words, quirking an eyebrow when he said he had been remembering again. That quickly turned into a frown when Sherlock mentioned their father and the near killings he hadn't realised had happened. He shook his head and looked on at his little brother._

_'You have never been a burden,' he said softly. 'Nor have you ever wasted my time when you have come to me with your problems. You are my brother and I will always be there for you whenever you should need me.'_

_Sherlock nodded, though by this point his brother's words were quite lost on him._

_'And now, dear brother, I am in so much physical pain because my brain has literally been stuffed with new memories. And if it wasn't for John I would have drank to my death. Believe me when I say I was tempted.'_

_'Dear god,' Mycroft sighed in a hushed breath. 'You should get to a facility soon. John, even you must see how much help he needs. But, thank you for not letting him drink himself to death at the very least.'_

_'I know how much he needs help,' John said softly, staring into his tea. 'And I'll let you take him, but I have one request.' He looked up at Mycroft with as much determination as he could muster. 'I want to be able to visit him, assess his progress myself. And, when he's no longer a danger to himself or others, I want the kids to be able to see him as well.'_

_'And if I don't stop being a danger?' Sherlock questioned. 'Don't be a fool, Mycroft. I'm trusting you'll be able to take charge this time and make a suitable decision about me.'_

_'That will be for your doctors to decide,' Mycroft said. 'And I don't mean John. Sorry.' John swallowed but nodded. 'If the doctors at the facility deem you unfit for return to society then I see two possible outcomes. Either they keep you in the facility until you're better, or they keep you there until you die.'_

_'Way to tell us lightly,' John grumbled._

_'He's only trying to help, John. Would you rather have to put up with my alcoholism until you one day find me dead, lying in a puddle of vomit? Do you want to risk me nearly raping you again? Or have you forgiven me for that already?'_

_Sherlock took a deep breath. 'Think about how this is affecting Benny–' He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Ben, I mean. Maybe if he sees me getting help he will resent me less. Or maybe he'll resent me more. Whatever. You never know, but this might encourage him to seek help himself.'_

_'I'm sorry, did you just say you almost raped John?' Mycroft asked in concern. 'And what's going on with Ben? Is he alright?'_

_Sherlock paled and glanced away in shame. 'You heard me correctly, yes,' he replied. 'As for Ben, the answer is no. He is not ok in any way. We believe him to be going down the same path as I did in my teenage years. Well, I say believe. Felicity confirmed it this morning. You may have noted his absence earlier.'_

_'I simply assumed he had decided to sit with his friends, or had left with them before I arrived,' Mycroft said softly. 'I don't see him often enough, so I haven't been able to see how he's been holding up. God damn MI6 and the agents can't cope without me it seems.' He politely let the rape issue slide, knowing no one in the room wanted to talk about it at the moment._

_'I'm sorry to hear about Ben. He should be talked to, maybe get some help of his own. How bad is he?'_

_'As bad as I was in the later stages of drug use,' Sherlock swallowed. 'You should have seen how on edge he was, Croft. I assume that I don't help him either. I'm fairly sure he hates me._

_'Which is all the more reason for me to talk to him myself,' Sherlock said in a low voice._

_'I would say that he doesn't hate you, but if he's anything like you on drugs then he probably does,' Myc sighed. 'Sorry to be so blunt, but it's probably the truth.' He rubbed his face with his hands and sat forward, his elbows on his knees._

_'Are you sure you want to speak to him? Because I'm more than able if you want. Or John.'_

_'No. Sorry, but no,' John interjected. 'While Ben is my son, this is not our battle to fight. Sherlock knows more about what Ben is going through, so he should be the one to talk to him.'_

_'He's scared, Croft. He doesn't know what's going on. And as much as you want to help, John's right. I have to be the one to talk to him. Because, no offense Croft, but you really didn't help me. Lestrde did. He knew what it's like and that helped a lot.' Sherlock sighed, resting his hands under his chin._

_Mycroft sighed. 'Gregory told me about that. How he helped you get clean, and his own past. I owe him a great debt for saving your life. And as for Ben–'_

_The front door opened followed by fits of giggles and shushes. Ben stumbled into the house and thanked his friends for dropping him off. He shut the door quietly and ambled inside, freezing when he saw his parents and uncle gathered in the sitting room. His pupils were blown wide and he scratched absently at his arm, doing his best to look sober._

_'Heh– hey guys. Wazzup?' he slurred._

_'Do come join us, Ben.' Sherlock motioned for his son to come into the room. 'You haven't seen your uncle in awhile.'_

_He would discuss this when Ben was sober. Right now it was important to keep him as calm as possible._

_'Um... Hey, Uncle Myc. Howz the James Bond life? I'm not in trouble, am I? Iz that why you're here?' He plopped down onto the chair furthest from everyone, taking in their expressions. He blinked rapidly and swallowed, his heartbeat quickening. God, he hoped Sarah hadn't screwed him over with a bad batch again. Fuckin' Sarah._

_'That would depend on many things, Ben. Do you think there's a reason that you should be in trouble?' Sherlock asked him patiently, taking in how ill and haggard Ben was beginning to look. Ben rolled his eyes up in mock thought. He shook his head slowly, not wanting to make himself dizzy and nauseous._

_'Noooo,' he said slowly. 'Nuthin comes t'mind.' He swallowed audibly, his pulse beginning to skyrocket. Fuckin' Sarah had fucked him over again. Shit._

_'Croft, John,' Sherlock started, voice calm despite his internal panic. 'Grab Ben and shove him in a cold shower.' He looked to his husband and to his brother. 'I'm deadly serious.'_

_'Whut? Whut're you on about? The fuck?! Dad! Dad, let go! Uncle Myc? Please! Where are we going? This is all your fault Sherlock! You son of a bitch! Gah! Jesus fuck! That's cold! Get me out of here! Dad!'_

_Sherlock ran a hand along his face, flinching at his son's screams. The only thing that stopped him from breaking down entirely was the knowledge that what Ben was going through was for his own good._

_'It's fucking cold!' Ben continued to shout, his body quaking with two types of shivers. 'Dad! Myc! I swear to god if you don't pull me out of this right now I'll kill you both!' John and Myc did nothing except hold him more firmly under the spray of water. 'Fuck you all! I hate you!'_

_Sherlock just sat there, helpless, sipping at his water more gingerly now. He began to start planning out a speech for Ben. He was going to delve into his past to stop him from making the same mistakes. At least he hoped he would be able to stop him._

_Ben had finally stopped shouting but he continued to struggle. John held firm, wanting his son to calm down and ease the frantic heart rate he had seen beating in his neck. He and Myc didn't dare speak for fear of inflicting Ben's verbal wrath on them both._

_Sherlock had hated his father._

_Ben hated him._

_Sherlock had started the drugs to fit in with those around him._

_Ben had started the drugs to impress a girl._

_Same difference._

_The truth was he and Ben were painfully similar._

_And god did that scare Sherlock._

_'Dad. Dad, please,' Ben begged quietly. 'I'm freezing. Please. Let me out. Please.' John and Mycroft shared a glance. Mycroft nodded and they pulled Ben out of the water. John wrapped him up in a fluffy towel, letting Myc watch over him while he returned to Sherlock._

_'Sherlock?' he called out. 'Sherlock, what do we do now?'_

_'Search his room and get rid of any supplies he has.' Sherlock paused. 'And though it may seem cruel, lock him in there. I'll go see him once we've both sobered up.'_

_John swallowed and nodded, heading back to the bathroom. Ben was sitting on the floor, shaking so hard he was vibrating against the wall._

_'We need to search his room,' John said softly to Myc. The elder Holmes nodded, standing and helping Ben to his feet. He followed John to Ben's room, setting the shivering boy on his bed and closing the door._

_John and Mycroft searched Ben's room thoroughly, finding needles, coke, heroin, and numerous lighters hidden throughout. John was on the verge of tears at the sight of the drugs his boy was taking._

_'Sherlock said we need to lock him in here,' John said softly, looking at his boy curled in on himself on his bed. 'I'll need to board up his window, because last time he crawled out of it. Keep an eye on him, ok?'_

_Mycroft nodded and John dashed off to the garage, grabbing what he needed and ran outside to Ben's window. He looked inside and saw Myc trying to calm a shaking Ben who was convulsing so badly his limbs were flailing. John quickly placed the board against the window, blocking the sun and Ben's only exit, nailing it to the frame of the house thoroughly before dashing back inside. He returned to Ben's room, pulling Mycroft to his feet and hauling him from the room. He locked the door and collapsed against the wall, taking deep, shaking breaths._

_Sherlock stood to his feet and made his way on his shaking legs to where a collapsed and near crying John lay, his brother hunched over him in an attempt to calm him. He swallowed guiltily and dropped to his knees beside John._

_'I'm sorry that I couldn't have helped more,' he apologised, brushing the back of his hand against John's cheek. 'I can't promise that I can put this right. I can, however, promise that I will talk to him, and I will try to make him listen.'_

_He glanced up at his brother. 'Thanks for all you have done, Croft.'_

_John leaned into Sherlock's touch, pressing his face into his hand. Mycroft nodded, standing to his feet._

_'I'm sorry to leave after such a dramatic moment, but I should get back to MI6 before all hell breaks loose. Good luck to you both. And, whenever you're ready, I'll come pick you up and take you to the facility. John. Sherlock.' Mycroft nodded his leave, walking out the door._

_John huddled closer to Sherlock, grasping his wrist and pulling him close into a tight hug. His buried his nose in his chest and heaved a sigh, gulping down oxygen while trying not to cry._

_Sherlock sat down and pulled John onto his lap, hugging him tightly. 'I love you both too much to let any more harm come to you. Which is why I'll wait till Ben is on the right track before I myself seek help.'_

_He kissed John on the head. 'For now we wait. He'll sober up enough to at least be able to take in what I've planned on saying to him. And then, we support him.'_

_John nodded, clutching to Sherlock's shirt much like a small child._

_'I'm sorry for not letting Myc take you earlier. Maybe we could have avoided all this. Maybe Ben would have stopped if he had seen you getting clean. Maybe he wouldn't have touched the drugs at all. I found coke and heroin stashed in his room. And it kills me that our little boy is doing such hard drugs. And... he nearly overdosed today, didn't he?'_

_Sherlock held John tighter. 'No. I refuse to let you take all the blame. This is no one's fault, ok? And if we're going to play the blame game at least let me take the rap._

_'He did nearly overdose today, yes. I'm sorry, but I'm not going to lie to you. But the fact he turned to drugs wasn't just because of my alcoholism. He did it to fit in. Like I did it to fit in. And look at me. I'm alive still. So don't give up hope just yet.'_

_'He's only fifteen, Sherlock. He's killing himself, and his brain is still growing. He's probably killing brain cells and valuable information and the like. How old were you when you started?'_

_'Do you really want to know the truth of that answer?' Sherlock licked his lips in anxiety and took a deep breath. 'I was younger than Ben. That's all you really need to know.' His eyes went cloudy, fogged up by his past._

_'Younger? Jesus.' John sniffled, burying his face in Sherlock's chest and let out a muffled sob._

_'Shhh,' Sherlock hushed his husband, gently rocking him back and forth. 'If I made it, so can our son.'_

_'But you were younger than him!' John wailed pitifully, huddling into Sherlock's lap. 'How on earth did you survive?'_

_'I don't know. I really don't.' Sherlock's voice was small. 'But that was an awfully long time ago, and I don't want to relive it more than I have to. I'm going to tell Ben everything but right now... I can't tell you. I'm sorry.'_

_John nodded and quietly sobbed into Sherlock's chest._

_'Can we go upstairs? I don't want Ben to overhear us,' he asked in a small voice._

_'Of course.' Sherlock helped John to his feet and wrapped an arm around him. 'You look like you need some sleep. Want a sleeping pill? Might help.'_

_'I could use some sleep yeah,' John mumbled, ambling toward the stairs. 'What are you going to do while I'm asleep? Sort through your memories while you and Ben sober up?'_

_'No,' Sherlock mused. 'I'll save the trip into my mind palace when I have to fetch memories out to tell Ben my past. I'll watch you sleeping for a bit and then I'm going to talk with our son.'_

_John nodded, taking the stairs slowly, his body ached from his punishing speed earlier in bed. He grimaced as he thought about how Sherlock must have felt. When the reached the too John stumbled a bit, but Sherlock's arm around his waist stopped him from falling._

_'Guess I'm exhausted,' John mumbled, opening their bedroom door and nearly collapsing on their bed. 'Don't think I'll be needing a pill.'_

_'Okay,' Sherlock whispered, crawling onto the bed and wrapping John in his arms, dragging him close. 'Love you.'_

_John began to shake violently. Seemed his body was finally catching up with his mind. His pyjama bottoms were soaked from Ben's ice shower and his shirt was pretty wet too. They needed to come off before he was going to even begin to fall asleep._

_'C-c-c-c-clothes,' he shuddered. 'O-off. C-c-c-covers. P-p-please.'_

_Sherlock was swift to remove John's clothes, stripping him down to nothing. He lifted his husband's body up and under the covers before crawling under them himself._

_'I'm just going to stay here to warm you up for a bit,' he ushered down John's ear._

_'Ok-k-k-k-kay,' John stuttered, curling himself into Sherlock's body. He shivered slightly as Sherlock's voice travelled down his ear, pressing himself closer._

_'You're warm,' he noted, nuzzling his chest. 'And, love you too.'_

_Sherlock smirked. 'Obviously,' he growled down John's ear, humour dripping in his voice. He wrapped an arm around John and tugged him close._

_John groaned, wrapping a leg around Sherlock and pulling him against him._

_'Shhh now. Close your eyes, John. Get some rest.' Sherlock rubbed his husband's back soothingly._

_'You tease,' John smirked, nuzzling into his chest._

_'You can have me in any way you want when you wake up. But right now, let's face the fact that if I attempt to do anything intimate you'll pass out during it.' Sherlock chuckled briefly._

_'No I wouldn't,' John mumbled, feeling himself falling asleep despite his words. 'But, when we do, take me from behind. I like it better that way. Well, when it's with you, I like it any way.' He smiled and rubbed against Sherlock's chest, reaching for one of his hands and grasping it tight._

_'Love you,' he whispered, almost asleep._

_'Love you too,' Sherlock smiled softly. 'Now go to sleep.'_

_John merely hummed in reply, his mind already drifting off to sleep._

* * *

Phew! That was a long one! The next is much shorter than this, so don't worry. Sherlock and Ben have a heart to heart, plus more feels on the way. See you all next week!

TSA + IB


	24. My Boys

Apologies for the delay. I had a massive headache all afternoon though I managed to get my temporary license finally! Now just to take the road test and I shall officially be a licensed driver! Also, I saw the new Wolverine movie tonight. Meh. I'm more excited for Thor 2 (LOKI) and X-Men: Days of Future Past. But enough about Marvel. Let's talk Sherlock.

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock

Me: John, Ben, Felicity

_Warnings for this chapter: drug withdrawals, gratuitous sex, vomiting, blood, and more sex_

* * *

Chapter 24 - My Boys

_Sherlock waited a few hours before untangling himself from John and crawling out of the warm bed, shivering as soon as the cold air hit him._

_He stood to his feet and tested the strength of his legs. They still trembled ever so slightly but they were nowhere near as bad as they had been before._

_He crept downstairs and to Ben's room, taking a deep breath and turning the handle. He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him._

_'How are you feeling?' he asked his son, who was still clearly wide awake and battling the aftermath of drug use._

_'What do you think?' Ben growled, shivering despite being wrapped in the towel, his comforter, and two other blankets._

_'I know exactly how you're feeling round about now. I was just being polite,' Sherlock said bluntly._

_'Well you can take your politeness and kindly shove it up your arse,' Ben spat. 'And you have no idea how I'm feeling. Stop trying to "get me" because it's not going to work.'_

_'Actually, Ben, I know exactly how you're feeling so drop the tough act.' Sherlock walked over to Ben, sitting at the edge of his bed._

_'I'm going to tell you a story. More specifically mine. And you're going to stay quiet throughout it all.' He scowled. 'Don't you dare give me that look, Ben. You will remain quiet because you need to hear this. Because right now your dad is distraught and I am not going to stand by whilst you slowly rip his heart to shreds.'_

_'You're not my dad,' Ben huffed, pulling his blankets over his head. 'You said I had to listen, not look at you,' his muffled voice said. 'So start talking. Illuminate me.'_

_'I was thirteen when I started taking drugs. In some ways count yourself lucky. I was just a child. At least you understand what you're doing to yourself.' Sherlock paused to gauge Ben's reaction._

_Ben blinked. Sherlock had– ? Of course he had. He was his father after all, a genius like him. Probably used them to quell his racing thoughts, much like himself. Only, now he used them because if he didn't he'd get headaches and nausea until he used again. Fuck._

_'Go on,' he said quietly._

_'I suppose it all started with my father. I hated him. Like you hate me. I don't suppose I've ever spoken of my father?' Sherlock wondered how much Ben knew of his past._

_'You never talk about your past,' Ben murmured. 'But, then again, with your condition you probably have a spotty memory anyway. And Dad never brings it up. Out of respect I suppose. I'm just surprised he has any respect left for you after so many years of drunkenness and memory loss. How much of your life with us and Dad do you actually remember? Because you looked so lost and confused before the ceremony this morning.'_

_'In truth, not an awful lot. And yes, I know I don't deserve any respect from your dad,' Sherlock sighed. 'But you're wrong. My memory isn't all spotty. I can remember my childhood vividly. It's ironic that the memories I don't actually want are still there.'_

_He took a deep breath. 'For why would I want to remember my father? The very man who would beat me into a bloody pulp for a laugh. The man who would lock me in a cellar for days on end. The man who put out his cigarettes on my skin just to see me squeal. The hateful creature which tied me up and scratched "freak" into my skin.' He took deep, shuddering breaths and swallowed._

_'So, anyway, that was the first turning point for me,' he continued. 'My father.'_

_Ben swallowed audibly, poking his head out of his blankets to peer at Sherlock._

_'Your father beat you?' he asked in a small voice._

_Sherlock nodded, locking his jaw, and swallowing. 'Yes, Ben. He did. Not that I'm trying to sell you a sob story or anything. I just wanted you to know all the reasons for why I started the drugs. Thought we could compare notes.'_

_Ben huffed a laugh and shook his shoulders free of his cocoon._

_'Comparing notes on drug use and abuse with dear old dad,' he smirked. 'What has my life become?'_

_Sherlock frowned and shook his head. 'This isn't funny, Ben. You nearly overdosed today. I'm trying to help you.'_

_'No, this is hilarious,' Ben laughed. 'You __**took** drugs, I'm **taking** drugs, and **now** you're an alcoholic. And we're sitting here talking about it like a couple chums in a pub. Do you realise how fucked up this all is?'_

_Sherlock leaned in so he was looming over his son. 'I realise, but your Uncle Greg was a junkie once too. He helped me overcome my drug use. Sometimes it takes one to know one. And if you must know I never planned on becoming an alcoholic. It was your dad who stopped me and my brother's plans to take me away to rehab.' He stared at Ben's shocked expression. 'You see, Ben? It's not as black and white as you like to think it is.'_

_'Greg was a junkie?' Ben whispered, shocked. 'And... And Dad kept you from going away? Dad... Dad's an idiot.'_

_'Yes. Greg was a junkie and therefore we helped each other out of the pit. And yes, I agree completely. Your dad is an idiot,' Sherlock smiled softly. 'But he was a scared idiot. He thought if he let me go then he, you, and Felicity wouldn't see me again.' He looked at Ben sadly. 'I think that would have been in all of your interests, don't you?'_

_'To never see you again? How would that be beneficial for us?' Ben sniffed and turned away. 'I may hate you, but I don't __**hate** you. And, you may not believe this, but I need my dad.'_

_Sherlock chuckled dryly. 'But at least you wouldn't have had to deal with all this. My alcoholism, my memory loss, my distance. At least you would have been protected from that. I don't blame you for hating me. God knows I deserve it. And I hated my father, but for different reasons, and I hoped to god not to follow his path. But I have. So tell me, Ben, in what case how could you possibly need me?'_

_'I don't know,' Ben answered honestly. 'I really don't, but... Geez. I don't even know.'_

_'Ben, I'm asking because... I'm going to be going away soon. To get some help. I'll of course set you on the right path before I do.' He placed a hand on his son's shoulder. 'And there's two options. I either get deemed fit for release back into society, or,' he shivered, 'I live the rest of my days locked up.'_

_'And I won't ever get to visit?' Ben's lower lip trembled despite himself. 'You're my dad. What other reason could I need to convince you that I need you?'_

_'Because I never needed my father.' Sherlock let his hand slide off Ben's shoulder. 'So I'm afraid I don't understand the whole parent sentimentality thing.'_

_'We share genetics,' Ben stated. 'And I realise you also shared genetics with your own father, but he was cruel. You're not. You never beat me, you introduced me to the violin, you actually took me to my first orchestra performance when I was ten. You understood parental sentimentality just fine in my opinion.'_

_Sherlock smiled but that smile quickly turned into a grimace as a sharp pain jolted through his mind. He clutched his head and grunted._

_'Maybe I do understand it a bit.' His voice was strained and small. 'Anyway where was I in my story?' He pressed his face into the palm of his hand._

_'I don't know,' Ben swallowed. 'You ok?'_

_'Err–' Sherlock stuttered. 'Yes, fine.' He clutched at his head tighter. 'Just give me a minute to think.'_

_'If it helps, I think you stopped after telling me Gran– your father beat you,' he said slowly. 'Are you sure you're ok? You look really pale.'_

_'Yes–' He winced as his mind felt a stabbing pain again. 'I am fu–' He almost swore as the pain intensified. 'Fine,' he muttered. 'Ah, yes. My father,' he croaked. 'Yes. He was the first factor. The second factor was my m-m-mi-mind.' He gasped for breath and whimpered, shuddering as a wave of pain ripped through him._

_'You are not fine!' Ben protested, struggling to free himself from his blankets. 'What's going on? Do I need to get Dad?'_

_'Nothing is going on, Ben.' Sherlock attempted a smile but failed. 'And I swear if you get your dad and distress him further–' The threat was unfinished as Sherlock waded through the wreckage of his mind palace, sinking deeper and deeper._

_'Sherlock?' Ben asked, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. 'Sherlock, what's going on? Is this your mind palace thing backfiring?'_

_Sherlock flinched at the use of his name. 'Y-es,' he managed to push out of his numb lips. 'It is.'_

_'Whenever it happens to me I take a deep breath and wade through happier memories,' Ben suggested. 'Like you teaching me violin. Or Uncles Greg and Myc buying me ice cream as a kid. Try finding some happier memories of your own and see if they work.'_

_'I have happy memories. That's half my problem,' Sherlock wheezed. 'Ben, I started to remember a load of things today from way back. They're from the time I spent with your dad.' He heaved a laugh. 'Good times. They were very good times.'_

_His face stiffened in pain. 'And now my brain feels like it's going to bleed out my ears.'_

_'Wait... You're remembering?' Ben asked incredulously. 'But I thought that Jim guy destroyed all your old memories of Dad? How did you get them back? And you __**do** realise it is physically impossible for your brain to bleed out of your ears, right? You're not that stupid.'_

_Sherlock grinned. 'I realise that. It certainly feels like it's going to though. And I don't know why I started to remember but I did. And god Ben does it hurt.' His face fell._

_'Is there anything I can do to help? Beyond silence, I mean.'_

_'No, it's fine. The pain will pass soon enough. It always does,' Sherlock reassured Ben._

_'So it's happened before,' Ben mused, not quite a question or a statement. 'When does it usually happen and how do you cope?'_

_'There's no pattern to it,' Sherlock sighed. 'And I don't cope particularly well.'_

_'Mine is usually after a rather long night mixed with drugs,' Ben admitted softly. 'It's like my mind is fighting back. Like it doesn't want me to take the drugs. But I can't not take them. If I don't... If I don't I get shakes and nauseous and hot flashes and cold flashes. And I just... I want to be able to stop. But I can't.'_

_'Don't say can't,' Sherlock shook his head. 'Because you can. If I stopped taking drugs and I started at thirteen then you can most certainly stop.'_

_'And how long were you on them before Uncle Greg found you and helped you stop?' Ben asked. His arm was starting to itch but he didn't want Sherlock to see his needle marks, nor his other scars. He pulled his blankets around himself again, shivering for two very different reasons._

_'It wasn't until I was in my twenties that anybody noticed my drug use. Anybody that cared at least. Mycroft had his own worries, and by the time my drug abuse had gotten serious he had moved out and was heavily focussed on his job. Not that he didn't care, he just simply wasn't around enough to notice. My father knew but I think he thought it to be some sort of hilarious joke. He had helped to push me into the dark, and that was funny to him. Then mother, of course, was too busy avoiding father to spend much time with me.' Sherlock took a deep breath and ran a hand through his curls, mussing them up._

_'When I met your Uncle Greg, I had overdosed. I had taken enough that would ensure my death. At least I thought I had. It turned out it was just extremely painful. It brought me no escape from the life I wanted to leave behind.' He pressed his hand to his forehead again as yet again he began to feel his mind under vicious attack. 'He saved me. In return, I solved a case for him that had been left unsolved for six years. He saw my potential and offered me a job, on one condition. I had to get clean and fast. It was hard, yes. I mean, I was on drugs for almost ten years of my life. I remember that for a majority of my clean up time I was stuck in my room hating everybody and everything. I imagine you'll be the same.' The curly haired man bit back a smile. 'I took him up on that offer, you know. I became the one and only consulting detective in the world. And that was bloody fantastic.'_

_Sherlock paused slightly, pursing his lips in thought. 'I suppose though, once I became a detective I no longer needed the drugs. I took them to slow down my mind, but whilst I was working on cases I had no need to do that. I was putting my mind to good use. There was also the fact that I didn't speak to my peers anymore. I say peers, but I mean fellow junkies. They were all idiots. The only reason I chose to be part of their group was because I wanted to stop them calling me "freak." And they did, once I'd started taking drugs with them. However, I found I didn't need friends after I became clean.' Sherlock laughed lightly._

_'Then I met your dad, and I realised I only needed one.'_

_'I don't have any friends either,' Ben said softly. 'Apart from the kids who give me the drugs. And I'm never buying anything from Sarah again. She's fucked me over too many times. You know she tried to get me to use a dirty needle once? But I've read enough medical textbooks to know what they look like and how dangerous they can be. She was probably trying to give me some blood virus or STD or some shit. Fuckin' Sarah.'_

_Ben stopped to scratch at his arm again. He'd probably nicked something and it was healing, but he still didn't want to pull his arm out of his blankets to check. Sherlock didn't need to see all those scars. And frankly, Ben didn't want to see them either. They just confirmed how fucked up he truly was._

_'So, Greg got you clean and you became the world's only consulting detective,' Ben mused softly. 'And that kept you off the drugs? Did you ever relapse?'_

_'That's the thing about junkies. You can't trust them. You can't really trust yourself even,' Sherlock contemplated. He glanced across at Ben who was clearly scratching at his arm continuously beneath the covers but decided to remain quiet about that certain subject for now._

_'Once your Uncle Greg had put me on the right track I had no need to go back to drugs. It was hard at first, extremely so. I smoked heavily for a while to cope with my cravings, but I even managed to cut that old habit out after awhile.' He smiled to himself._

_'Ask your dad about my three patch problems. I really don't think he was all impressed at me when I used the nicotine patches. Still, better than smoking as apparently smoking is bad for breathing. To which I said breathing was boring.' He let out a weak laugh._

_'However, as I got to know your dad – as I began falling in love with him,' he took a deep breath, 'I started to make my own drugs. Safer than street drugs, and at least I could monitor what it was I was taking. I thought I could avoid my feelings, avoid rejection, avoid the pain of losing my one friend. As it was, it was those damn homemade drugs that sealed our relationship and brought us closer than ever. Not that you should get any ideas about creating your own drugs. Your dad would quite literally kill me.'_

_Sherlock held his face against his palm, kneading at his eyes to try and stop the intensifying pain. It had gone away for awhile whilst he had been going through some better memories but now the pain was back, and worse than ever._

_'Maybe I could get Greg to help you out too?' he asked, voice wavering. 'That is, of course, if you are prepared for a severe dry spell, and the awful withdrawal symptoms.'_

_'I would rather not drag Greg into this,' Ben said softly, his arm starting to hurt from all the scratching. Why was it so goddamn itchy?_

_'I'm not looking forward to the coke bugs,' Ben frowned. __**If they haven't already started**, a small voice told him. **Fuck off,** he told it. **You're detoxing, **it said, louder now.** I'm not going anywhere.**_

_'Fuck,' Ben whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking violently. Sherlock pulled his hands from his face and blinked at his shaking son. The itching was far clearer now. Sherlock sighed heavily, pushing his own problems as far away as possible. He crawled closer to his son and gently pulled him up from the covers and into a hug. Ben was too weak to fight it._

_'Ben, listen to me. I know you're scared. I know that it seems impossible, but it is possible. You can do this.' Sherlock began rubbing circles on his son's back in the hope it would calm him down._

_'It'll be hard. You'll face a lot of challenges on the way, but I swear I'm not going to let you do this to yourself. You're slowly killing yourself, your mind along with it. I will not watch you bring yourself to your death. Do you understand me?' He gripped Ben tightly to him. 'I don't want you to die, please._

_'As for your Uncle Greg, the likelihood that your Uncle Mycroft has spoken to him is quite high. So, you either let Greg help you, or I'll get him to turn you in to the police.' He grabbed at Ben's arms and gasped at the scars and track marks littering them._

_'You have to let me help you, Ben,' he whispered hopelessly. 'With everything.'_

_Ben struggled to get his arms out of Sherlock's grasp. Why did he have to pry? Why did his own body have to betray him? He was mortified and felt betrayed at the same time. The track marks were the least of his worries though. The razor slashes weren't._

_'I don't want to go to the police,' Ben grumbled, going limp in Sherlock's grasp. He continued to shake though._

_'Oh, so you'd rather die then?' Sherlock questioned. 'Because that's exactly where you'll head if you don't do something about this pronto.' He ran a finger along the scars and sighed sadly._

_'I used to do this too, Ben,' he said, 'And I managed to stop. I managed to get on with my life. And believe me when I say giving up the drugs will be the best decision you'll ever make. Things make so much more sense when you're sober. We don't have to involve the police, just Greg. He's family.'_

_'Our entire family is fucked up,' Ben grumbled. 'Greg was a junkie, Myc is bipolar and depressed, you were a junkie and a cutter and probably suicidal... I swear, Felicity is the only sane one. Not sure about Dad, but I doubt his life was perfect and stress free after being discharged back home.'_

_'We are not fucked up. We are human, Ben,' Sherlock muttered. 'And I don't feel all that comfortable talking about your dad's past without his consent.'_

_'Knew he wouldn't have been sane,' Ben muttered. 'What was he gonna do? Shoot himself with that handgun he has? Yes, I've seen it. Well, broke into the drawer he keeps it in. And, before you ask, yes, I've considered using it myself.'_

_'Your dad was a soldier. He'd seen good men die. That gets to people after awhile. At least it gets to normal people.' Sherlock dragged Ben tighter against him. 'I–' He hid his face in Ben's hair. 'Just don't. Please, just don't. I can't lose you. Not like that.'_

_'This is the most care and emotion you've shown me in years,' Ben whispered, his shaking easing as Sherlock held him tight. 'I... I don't really know how to process this.'_

_'I am so sorry for that. I could shrug it off as my dementia's fault, but it isn't. I've never been good with emotion. I find it almost painful to show affection. I've always been like that. I just–' Sherlock nuzzled at his son's hair. 'I'm just a terrible sort of person. And I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I apologise for everything. My alcoholism, my distance, my constant memory loss, and my most probable depression I've been fighting. I am sorry.'_

_Ben swallowed and tentatively draped his arms over Sherlock's shoulders in an awkward hug._

_'Ben, I can never make this up to you. I don't ever expect you to forgive me. I just want you to know I was never intentionally cruel.' Sherlock leaned into the hug his son was giving him. He too was shaking now, from both emotional pain and the physical pain brooding within his mind that he was trying his hardest to ignore._

_'Ok,' Ben whispered. Both he and Sherlock were shaking violently, and in his state he found it sort of funny._

_'We both need help,' he said softly._

_'Yes we do,' Sherlock agreed gently. 'You at least have a chance of pulling through this to better days. Not too sure about me.'_

_Ben swallowed thickly and moved closer to Sherlock._

_'Don't wanna think about that,' he said softly, his eyes suddenly wet with unshed tears._

_'No, and you shouldn't have to. I'm sorry, again.' Sherlock sniffed loudly. His tears, unlike his son's, began to fall, and heavily._

_'I don't like thinking about it,' Ben mumbled, resting his forehead on Sherlock's shoulder. 'And it's been popping up a lot. You dying. And... It just makes me really sad even though we haven't been particularly close the past few years. But, you're still my father, and I don't want to think about you not being here permanently.'_

_'Then why can't you see that I don't want the same fate for you? I love you, Ben. I don't care that my memory's fucked up. I love you. And if you died then I would be beside myself. Lord knows what your dad would do, what we'd all do.' Sherlock ran a hand through Ben's hair gingerly, sobbing loudly as his tears fell uncontrollably down his face. 'So please let me help you. Let us all help you.'_

_Ben's lower lip trembled and he held Sherlock close. He nodded frantically, burying his face in Sherlock's neck, his tears finally breaking free._

_'Shh, Ben. Shh,' Sherlock hushed through quaking lips. 'Everything will be ok.'_

_Ben whimpered and pulled himself into Sherlock's lap, cuddling up to him like he did when he was a child. He clutched onto Sherlock's shirt and sobbed into his chest, shaking as the cold air hit him and his emotions spilled over. Sherlock was terrified by the sheer amount of emotions clinging to the atmosphere in the room they were in. Ben was shaking, crying, a puddle of thin limbs and curly hair on his lap. Whilst Sherlock had so much buzzing around his mind, causing him painful turmoil that he felt like he was going to pass out. He took terrible, shaky breaths and willed himself to both keep his cool and to stay conscious. His efforts were rather feeble as more and more black clotted his vision. He shook his head and blinked as fast as he could, biting back a few awful screams._

_Ben could feel his father's inner turmoil radiating off him in waves. His body was tense, his shaking all the more intense by how much he was trying not to. He could feel his head lolling as he tried to stay awake, battering the war inside his mind. His mind palace was betraying him, fighting him as he remembered. Ben knew what that was like. It happened often as he tried to remember what had transpired while he was high. But he couldn't imagine what Sherlock must be going through. So many memories, years of information, decades even, flowing back all at once. He was shocked Sherlock was still conscious. But it appeared he was losing that battle as well. So, Ben decided to ask something of his father. Something he hadn't asked since he was nine._

_'Stay with me?' he asked in a small voice. 'Please? My bed is big enough to hold us both. Stay. Please?'_

_Sherlock's heart skipped a beat at the question and he just about managed to raise his head to nod. He readjusted their positions, gently placing Ben back under the covers before moving to crawl under them himself. His head fell to the pillow with an audible thud and he groaned. Every fiber within him was fighting to stay awake for this moment. For every time he came anywhere near unconsciousness he saw his father._

_He turned his head so he was looking into Ben's eyes. His cobalt blue eyes shimmered with terror and sorrow, and so many more awful and stomach churning emotions, and his son looked back in a slight understanding._

_'Talk to me,' he practically begged. 'I can't go to sleep. Talk to me.'_

_'How did you meet Dad?' Ben asked quickly. 'He says a mutual friend introduced you, but I want more details. Please.'_

_'Mike Stamford. He worked at Saint Bart's,' Sherlock breathed out heavily. 'It just so happened we had both discussed our need for a flatmate on the same day. John was a soldier on low pension and I... I was a rather difficult person for people to like. Hence, my own difficulty in finding a flat.'_

_'But Mrs Hudson let you in, and Dad stayed,' Ben smiled softly. 'Dad will always stay. Stubbornly loyal as he is.' Ben scrambled closer to Sherlock, wanting his body heat more than anything. And if he so happened to pull him into a hug, he wouldn't complain._

_'Speaking of which, why did Dad stay? What solidified that friendship between you two?'_

_Sherlock wrapped an arm around Ben._

_'Oh, I wouldn't have called what we had between each other a friendship. More of a mutual understanding. When I say understanding... hmmm. Maybe that's the wrong word. I shot at walls whilst dying of boredom whilst he scolded me. He shouted at self checkout machines and I laughed in great amusement. He asked me to get the milk and I ignored him. I think, however, from the moment your dad saved my life and I saved his we always had a special connection. I think even back then I knew that John was the one I was destined to spend the rest of my life with.' He grinned, his pain lessening ever so slightly as he delved into the happier emotions buried beneath his surface._

_Ben snuggled closer, his hand clutching Sherlock's shirt. He hummed and rested his head under Sherlock's chin._

_'When did you realise you were in love with him?' he asked softly._

_'Love.' Sherlock thought about it for a moment. 'Love was a strange concept to me,' he continued. 'I wasn't sure what love was. However, I knew something was off when I began to feel almost protective of him. Whenever he was out on a date I'd try my hardest to interrupt it. Somewhere in my mind I thought that if he ever got into a serious relationship with a woman then he'd leave me for a better life. I wanted him all to myself.'_

_'Selfish,' Ben laughed, nuzzling into Sherlock's neck. 'No. Not selfish. You fancied him, you just didn't understand it. So, when did you figure out it was love you were feeling? When did you tell him?'_

_'I'm not proud of this fact, Ben.' Sherlock took a deep breath. 'But I was high as a kite when I realised and I blabbed it to him straight away. In fact, that's when he told me his feelings too. And in the morning...' He smirked. 'Let's just say my homemade drug had some rather unexpected side effects that you most definitely don't want me to go into detail about.'_

_'Ew. Gross,' Ben scoffed, wrinkling his nose in disgust. 'Sorry, but I don't want to hear about your activities with Dad. Just, no.' He shuddered and pressed himself closer to his father's body heat. He wasn't sure if he was cold because of the shower or if he was detoxing. Maybe both. He just needed heat, and Sherlock was practically a space heater to his cold, clammy skin._

_'Ok, off to another topic. Um... You mentioned your first case was a cold case of six years. What was your first crime scene case?'_

_'A brutal murder,' Sherlock said with a tad more gusto than would be seen as acceptable by most people. 'It was the brother. Wanted to inherit her side of the family's assets as well as his own. Solved it within ten minutes.'_

_'That's... impressive,' Ben smiled against Sherlock's neck. 'Very impressive. Astounding, even. Wow.'_

_'So I've been told a thousand times. It's nothing though, really. It's a talent of mine. It just comes naturally to deduce the world around me.' Sherlock was glowing despite his insistence of his talent being nothing. 'Besides, I'm a little out of practice. Doubt my skills would be quite up to the same standard these days.'_

_'I'm pretty good at deductions myself,' Ben beamed. 'Maybe one day we could go to the park and just sit on a bench and deduce people as they walk by.'_

_'Ah, the good old deduction game,' he hummed. 'Invite Uncle Mycroft too. Together we shall make a formidable team against him. He won't know what hit him. Daft sod,' he snickered. 'Though he is a rather lovable daft sod all the same.'_

_'I look forward to it,' Ben grinned. 'Maybe that can be our thing when we're better. We can go out and deduce people.'_

_'I like the sound of that.' __**If I ever get better**, he thought to himself spitefully. 'Maybe you can take my place as the only consulting detective, too. I'm sure Greg still has contacts at the Yard.'_

_'I don't know what I'm going to do,' Ben sighed. 'After school, I mean. I want to go to college, but I don't know what I want to study. And, no offence, but I don't think I'd be able to be a consulting detective. I don't deal well with dead bodies. Biology was proof of that, even if they were only frog corpses.'_

_'It's only decomposing matter.' Sherlock shrugged a little. 'I don't see everyone's problem with the dead. They're only gone off meat. Sorry. I meant–' He snorted. 'You know what I meant.'_

_He mulled over what his son could do. 'What do you enjoy doing? I mean really enjoy.'_

_'I like chemistry,' Ben said softly. 'And, and my violin. And art. I discovered I can draw. Really well, actually. But I see my art as more of a hobby.'_

_Sherlock clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. 'You could become a violin teacher, or an orchestra instructor. Maybe you could become a chemist. And why give up hope on becoming a successful artist? There's always hope, Ben, always.'_

_'Yeah, I know. But... my art is really personal. And... I don't want critics looking at it and telling me it's shit because it would be like they're telling me I'm shit. And I don't have the patience to be a teacher. Normal people are idiots; I'd probably kill them all for being stupid. Besides, I want something to do that exercises my mind. That lets me use it to its full potential, you know? Like was being a detective did for you.'_

_'I understand that perfectly. It's like my violin playing. It's entirely personal and I hate it when people overhear me playing. I prefer to play at night, as you may have noticed,' Sherlock said, feeling even more like his son by the moment. 'We'll work something out with you. I swear we will. If it's the last thing I do.'_

_'I've still got a year to figure things out,' Ben said softly. 'I'm sure we'll come up with something.'_

_'I don't care what you do. Just know that I will be proud of you no matter what. As long as it makes you happy.' Sherlock placed a kiss on Ben's head. 'Even if I lose more memory. Please don't forget that.'_

_'Ok,' Ben said softly. His body finally warm, his mind was beginning to fall asleep. Not so unusual after he'd used. He was always tired after a trip, but after nearly overdosing he was outright exhausted. He snuggled closer to his father, a hand searching for one of Sherlock's and grasping it._

_'Do you mind if I sleep?' Ben asked through a yawn. 'I don't want you to think you're boring me. It's just, I had a bad trip and my mind wants to repair itself. It's easiest when I'm asleep.'_

_'Go right ahead.' Sherlock cuddled Ben against himself, squeezing his hand to let his son know that he was there for him._

_Ben hummed and nuzzled his head against Sherlock's neck._

_'I... I'm sorry for what I said this morning,' he said softly. 'It was mostly the lack of drugs in my system. And, I just want you to know that I don't hate you. I don't. I just wish you were a bigger part of my life. But I don't hate you.'_

_'I'll try to be. I promise,' Sherlock ushered against Ben's curly hair. 'I love you, son.'_

_'Love you too,' Ben mumbled before falling asleep._

_As Sherlock watched his son sleep peacefully he found himself longing for sleep himself. However, the vicious and terrifying image of his father's fists flying at him scratched underneath his eyelids every time he tried jolted him back awake._

_So instead of sleep he was left to tend to his thoughts. They ran to his memory loss. He wondered if there was a pattern to when he forgot things or if it was completely random. He supposed the latter. But the more he thought about it the more he began to question it._

_Every time he'd forgotten things it had been after falling asleep. It was like he slept through the entire time missing in his mind. Maybe his brain gave off chemicals when he slept to encourage his dementia?_

_He blinked as a small whisper in the back of his head began to devise a plan to rid himself of memory loss._

_He would simply rid himself of sleep._

_He squeezed Ben impossibly tight to him and let out a defeated sigh. That plan would never work, and besides, who knew if his theory was right?_

_Ben grunted when Sherlock squeezed him tight, but he slept on. His dreams were full of stupid decisions, girls, and his father. They were all things he regretted, and he was disappointed to find his father among them. Maybe he was only there because he regretted what he'd said to him. Ben shrugged in his sleep and pressed his face closer to Sherlock's neck, closer to his body heat._

_He could experiment and see what sleep deprivation would do to his mind. Whether it stopped the memory loss or did nothing to quell it. It wouldn't hurt. A long time ago he'd run on very little sleep._

_A long time ago being the thing of importance. He wasn't as youthful as he had been when his sleep levels had been low._

_John wouldn't agree to it anyway so this plan of his was becoming harder and harder to pull off._

_**…::-::…**_

_John woke slowly, wrapped in a warm cocoon of blankets. He cracked an eye open, noticing that Sherlock was gone. Probably left to talk to Ben, he told himself. He stretched as he woke up, his muscles sore from not moving for hours, especially after being wrapped in a cocoon of blankets._

_He disentangled himself from the cocoon and made his way to the wardrobe, pulling on a fresh pair of pyjamas. He looked down at the alcohol and sighed. He wasn't sure what to do with it, but he wanted it out of the house. He grabbed the bottles and made his way downstairs. He padded into the kitchen and stood in front of the sink, contemplating. He opened a bottle and began pouring its contents down the sink before he could change his mind._

_Once all the alcohol was gone he put the bottles in the recycle, hidden under the rest that was in the bin. He didn't want to risk Ben or Felicity finding them. Not that they didn't already know about Sherlock's drinking, but he still wanted to protect them._

_He moved down the hall to Ben's room, listening for any indication that they were having a civil conversation. Nothing but silence came from behind the door, and for a brief moment he wondered if they'd knocked each other unconscious. He shook his head of the thought, telling himself that Ben was probably asleep and Sherlock had left him to sleep in peace. He opened the door slowly and quietly, his heart nearly breaking at the sight in front of him._

_Sherlock and Ben were cuddled together, Ben holding onto Sherlock tightly. John felt a few tears fall down his cheeks at the beautiful sight. Maybe there was hope for them yet._

_Sherlock lay perfectly still as John glanced into the room, hoping to look as though he'd fallen asleep. He shifted slightly so that his nose was buried in the crook of his son's shoulder._

_He held his breath._

_He somehow really didn't want to have to face John right now. Especially with the kind of ideas going through his mind currently. He just wanted to think in peace. Something he knew Ben could sympathise with._

_When he heard the door shut he sighed in relief._

_He could go back to his planning._

_John padded out to the sitting room and turned on the telly. If Sherlock and Ben were sleeping then he would have time to watch the movie he'd been putting off for a while. He flipped through the DVR recordings and selected the film, curling up clutching a pillow as the opening credits began._

_Tea. I need tea, he thought absently. And biscuits. He paused the movie to start the electric kettle and searched for some Jammie Dodgers. He opened a packet of Earl Grey and placed it in his mug, waiting for the water in the kettle to boil while munching on a Jammie Dodger. After he'd poured the tea he brought his mug and the box of biscuits with him to the sofa, plopping down and starting the movie again. He sipped at his tea, dipping a biscuit into it as it cooled, and enjoyed his film._

_Absently, he sent a quick text to Mycroft._

_**Sherlock and Ben talked it out. Apparently it went well as they're both comfortably asleep. In Ben's bed. –JW  
**  
Mycroft's reply came a minute later._

_**Good. Then they can start recovering. And take pictures. They may need a reminder that they actually love each other. As they say, 'Pics or it didn't happen.' –MH  
**  
John laughed and paused his movie again, popping a biscuit in his mouth before quietly moving to Ben's room again. He eased the door open, phone at the ready. They were too damn adorable while they slept. So alike. John took a couple pictures and closed the door, sending one to Mycroft. Mycroft sent a smiley in reply._

_Sherlock held his tongue when John came in again. There were a couple of flashes and the sound of the door closing once more._

_He was half tempted to ask John for a drop more alcohol to carry on through the rest of the day. He was beginning to feel the urge to drink the liquid once more. Instead, he just settled for sighing loudly in annoyance and glanced at Ben, wishing that the boy was awake to talk._

_He didn't care what they talked about but god damn it he needed to stop his thoughts._

_Ben grumbled and pressed closer to his father. He could feel his father's turmoil, it was penetrating into his dreams. He moaned and stretched his neck, his curls rubbing against Sherlock's chin._

_'Mmm, Da? I can feel you thinkin'. You ok?'_

_Sherlock snorted. 'No,' he muttered. 'I'm not ok.'_

_'Wanna talk about it?' Ben mumbled. He stretched out like a cat, almost purring as he slowly woke up._

_'Do you really want to discuss my problems?' he asked gently._

_'We pretty much share the same problems,' Ben pointed out. 'So, what's up?'_

_'Need some alcohol,' Sherlock stated bluntly. 'And I have a few things going round in my mind.'_

_'Well, I can't help with the alcohol bit. Dad may just kill me,' Ben stated, a small smile pulling at his lips. 'But I'm willing to listen if you want to talk.'_

_Sherlock smiled back. 'I imagine he would, yes.' He would kill them both several times over._

_'I'll talk, but you're going to think of me as idiotic when you hear what I have to say.'_

_'I always think you're an idiot,' Ben smiled fondly. He budged up so he could look Sherlock in the eye, study his face as he spoke. 'Go ahead. What's on your mind? Doctor Holmes is in.'_

_Sherlock grinned. 'Well, doctor, I've come to a conclusion about my memory loss. I've also thought of a plan to stop it from happening. But, this plan may cause more harm than good.'_

_'Ok,' Ben nodded. 'And what conclusion have you drawn?'_

_'Sleep.' The word rolled off his tongue heavily. 'I need to cut it out of my life. It all comes down to sleep.'_

_'Oooookay?' Ben said slowly. 'What's wrong with sleep?'_

_'Whenever I lose time it's after I've fallen asleep. Always. It's like I sleep through those years missing in my mind. Conclusion: no sleep, then no memory loss.'_

_Sherlock sighed. 'Told you it was idiotic.'_

_'No, actually. I don't think it's idiotic at all,' Ben said. 'It makes sense. In a crazy sort of way, but it makes sense. If you don't go to sleep, you don't lose memories. And if you don't lose memories then maybe you can be a bigger part of my life. And then we can get clean together.'_

_'It makes sense but I have no idea how I'll avoid sleep.' Sherlock ran a hand down his face. 'I'm no spring chicken and I need sleep. It could make me painfully ill at my age.' He frowned. 'And there is no way your dad would let me carry it out. I suppose it makes it easier that I can't sleep at the moment anyway.' He gestured towards his eyes. 'Too many bad memories.'_

_'I hate to say this, but maybe you should... No. Ignore me. Drink a lot of caffeine. Those Monster drinks are really good. Avoid Red Bull though. Too much sugar for someone your age.'_

_'I feel insanely energised already. It could work short term of course. But long term? And I'm sure your dad will notice something is up when I start bouncing off the walls,' Sherlock laughed gently. 'I'll have to go cold turkey on the alcohol front, too. Shit,' he cursed and huffed. 'Shit.'_

_'I'm going cold turkey too, then,' Ben stated. 'We'll ride this out together. Ok?'_

_'Okay. God, I'm already feeling fucked over,' he moaned softly. 'What about you? How are you holding up?'_

_'Tired and quaking,' Ben said, his shivering picking back up as he awoke. 'Maybe I should sleep and you should spend some time with Dad? I'm sure he's wondering about me. Go. Talk. And... do whatever it is you do when I'm not here. Trust me. I won't hear anything. I sleep like the dead after a trip. I'm pretty much comatose after a bad one.'_

_'Will you be ok?' Sherlock questioned him. 'Because if you begin to feel really bad and you're conscious just come and find me. Though you should probably yell up in warning so I can make myself presentable.'_

_Ben shuddered but grinned. 'I'll be fine. And, if I start to feel like shit, I'll call for you. Promise. Now, go to Dad. Let him know I survived and am willing to get help.'_

_Sherlock nodded and crawled out from the covers, tucking them tighter around Ben to keep him warm. He slowly walked over to the door, his head still slightly light and his legs still trembling. He looked back and smiled._

_'Night Ben.'_

_'Night,' Ben mumbled into his pillow. 'And... Dad?' He looked up at Sherlock, his aquamarine eyes meeting Sherlock's grey ones._

_'Thanks. For everything.'_

_'It's quite alright, Ben. I'm glad that I was able to help. Even if it was just me rambling on.' He went to leave but looked back one more time._

_Ben snuggled into his cocoon further, humming at the warmth. He looked back at Sherlock and smiled._

_'Go. I'll be fine. And if I'm not, I'll come find you. Promise.'_

_Sherlock nodded and reluctantly took his leave._

_'And Dad?' Ben called suddenly, sitting up straight._

_Sherlock froze, swallowing down hard. 'Yes?' he questioned._

_'I... I don't hate you,' Ben said softly. 'I really don't. I'm just... angry. And... I love you. A lot.'_

_'I love you too, Ben. I understand your anger. Believe me when I say I spent my teenage years being pissed at the world.'_

_Sherlock's heart warmed to the core._

_**He doesn't hate me, he doesn't hate me, he doesn't hate me,** a voice began to chant._

_Ben smiled and settled back into bed, wrapping his sheets around him tightly. 'Night, Dad.'_

_'Night Ben.' Sherlock slowly shut the door._

_John was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, completely absorbed in his movie. He sipped at his tea and nibbled on his biscuit, too engrossed in the film to drink and eat them properly. He saw motion in the corner of his eye and looked up. Sherlock was standing under the arch._

_'Oh. Hey, love,' John said, pausing the movie. 'Thought you and Ben were sleeping? How is he?' He patted the cushion next to him, offering Sherlock a seat._

_Sherlock plopped down besides John. 'He's a little shaken up from his trip but I think he'll be ok.'_

_'Good,' John sighed in relief. 'Thank goodness. And, it was nice to see you two like that. Curled up on his bed like you used to. It was quite a comforting sight. Jammie Dodger?' He held up the tray of cookies and smiled weakly._

_Sherlock shook his head politely. 'I'm not hungry. Thinking. Digestion slows my thought process.'_

_John's smile brightened. 'Now there's something I remember quite well,' he said. 'You never eating because you were thinking.' He set the cookies on the floor. 'Do you mind if I ask what you're thinking about?'_

_'I said I'd go cold turkey.' Sherlock pursed his lips. 'We made a pact we'd clean up together.'_

_'Ok. Good. That's good. Although, I don't know if both of you going cold turkey at the same time would be very pleasant. Especially for me. And when he starts getting the coke bugs you won't be any help at all because you'll be seeing god knows what while you're drying out.' John frowned and sighed._

_'But I know you two need to do this. I... I would just like you to do it in a proper facility with proper medical care should you need it.'_

_'No,' Sherlock replied, his voice harsh and verging on a snarl. 'I made a promise to our son. I said that I wouldn't go anywhere till he's on the right track.'_

_'Ok. Ok,' John said, holding up his hands. 'I didn't say you had to go. I was just telling you what I thought would be the better course of action. We could always get a live-in nurse or something. Or just get one that visits every day. But a live-in one might be better.'_

_'Fine,' Sherlock agreed, folding his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them. He just hoped having a nurse wouldn't stop the plan he had devised to stay awake. That would be most irritating._

_'Hey.' John rested a hand on Sherlock's back, rubbing circles onto it. 'I'm glad you two are cleaning yourselves up. I am. But, what's with the pensive look? You look like I ruined one of your experiments.'_

_Damn and blast. Why did John have to know him so well?_

_'Sorry.' He composed his face. 'I'm beginning to dry out, and my head still hurts immensely. Still, at least I didn't pass out in Ben's arms. I nearly did.'_

_He hadn't lied to John. So why did he feel so guilty?_

_Because you didn't tell him the truth either you dimwit, a snide voice spoke aloud in his mind._

_'Understandable,' John said softly. 'And glad you were able to stay awake. Do you want a drink? Nonalcoholic. Like water or tea.'_

_'Coffee?' he asked, his eyes hopeful. 'Caffeinated. That decaffeinated stuff is wretched.'_

_Stage 1 of his plan: Get fixed on caffeine as quickly as possible without raising suspicion._

_'Ok, but not too much. You know how you are when on caffeine,' John grinned. He stood up and walked into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with a steaming mug of coffee._

_'Careful,' he said passing it to Sherlock. 'Fresh and hot.' He sat back down on the sofa and grabbed the remote. 'Mind if I continue my film?'_

_'Go ahead.' Sherlock smiled through his guilt, sipping and blowing on the coffee impatiently to cool it down. John continued to watch the movie. Sherlock could just about tell it was one of those sappy love story films. He smirked as he consumed his coffee._

_**Oh John. My predictable, lovable John.**_

_It was exactly ten minutes after he'd finished his cup that he was hit with a bolt of energy. He grinned like a mad man as he wiggled in his seat, eyeing up John like a cat eyes up its prey. John did his best to ignore Sherlock, feeling his caffeinated energy seeping out of him and infecting the air. John was getting a contact high, and they weren't even touching. He tried to pay attention to his film, he did, but when he could feel Sherlock undressing him with his eyes it was very hard. And it didn't help that the main couple in the movie were about to get it on._

_John's pyjama bottoms suddenly felt very tight. Sherlock wriggled his last wriggle before finally pouncing at John, falling into a bundle on his lap with a seductive growl. John let out a squeal and laughed, wriggling in Sherlock's grasp._

_'Oh the wonderful things caffeine does to you,' he laughed joyfully._

_**Get used to it, John.** He bit his lower lip. He'd almost said that out loud._

_Sherlock rubbed himself over John, shaking with energy like a blender mixing food. 'Oh, you have no idea,' he mumbled against John's neck. John moaned, his head leaning against the back of the sofa. His hands shot out and grasped Sherlock's hips, pulling him down and moving him against his clothed erection._

_**Oh, so ****now**** it decides to play nice,** he cursed inwardly. He groaned and rut against Sherlock, not even bothering to pause the movie. The sounds coming from it were spurring him on._

_Sherlock gasped and grinned. 'Well hello.' He wriggled his eyebrows. 'Mini John decided to come and play,' he cooed. Panting and groans were coming from the film in the background and they only encouraged Sherlock to rut in return to John's rutting. His trousers were hot and tight and god did it feel good._

_'Want you,' John groaned, moving hard and fast against Sherlock. 'Inside. Please.'_

_'Flip over,' Sherlock ordered. 'Now.'_

_John followed Sherlock's order as best he could with Sherlock straddling him. He managed really well actually and sat on his knees, spreading his thighs and presenting his arse to Sherlock. Sherlock tugged John's trousers down and smiled maliciously. He licked his fingers rapidly and was quick to ease one inside John before adding another._

_'Don't yell out. Ben might be sleeping like a baby right now but you don't want to disturb him for life if he hears this.'_

_John nodded frantically and whimpered, pushing back on Sherlock's fingers. He clutched the edge of the sofa and moaned, sinking further onto his knees and purposefully on Sherlock's fingers._

_Sherlock hummed and curled his fingers. 'He said I had to comfort you, John. Basically said I could shag you long and hard to show you things are ok now. Want that? A long, hard shag?'_

_John nodded frantically again, not trusting his voice to be quiet at the moment. He pushed back on Sherlock's fingers, whimpering when they dragged along his prostate._

_'Long, hard shag,' he managed to rasp out. 'Yes. Yes, please. God, yes.'_

_'Then say bye to my fingers and hello to The Master.' Sherlock removed his fingers before slowly pushing his member into John. 'The Master shagging The Doctor. Mmm. Hell yes.'_

_'Yes! God yes! Fuck me, Master! Fantastic! Brilliant! Allons-y!' John cried, rocking back on Sherlock's perfect cock._

_Sherlock began at a tortuous pace, only speeding up his movements when he himself couldn't take it anymore. He covered John's mouth and tutted. 'No more shouting. Quiet down.'_

_'Sorry, sorry,' John mumbled into Sherlock's hand. He moved his hips to match Sherlock's pace, their skin slapping with a satisfyingly wet smack. He opened his mouth and licked Sherlock's palm, coating it with saliva, hoping it would get him to wank him to completion._

_'I know what you want, John. I'm just not sure we have a mutual understanding.' Sherlock thrust harder, running on the caffeine flowing through his veins. John whimpered in confusion, ceasing to lick Sherlock's hand in favour of turning to look at him, pleading with his eyes. 'Tell me. Tell me what you want,' was written all over them._

_Sherlock grunted and slammed himself into John. 'I'll help you out soon, dear. I just want this to last as long as possible.'_

_John nodded and thrust back, biting back screams as Sherlock hit his prostate relentlessly._

_'Keep... Keep that up and I... I won't last long,' John groaned out, barely managing to bury his face in the sofa before he cried out in pleasure, muffling it just in time._

_'Is the Master making the Doctor feel good?' Sherlock purred, slamming against John's prostate again and again._

_'The Doctor feels brilliant, Master,' John groaned out. 'Bloody brilliant. Ah! Fuck!' He squirmed and whimpered as Sherlock continued to pound into him, hitting his prostate with perfect precision every time._

_Sherlock hovered a hand over John's erection. 'Are you ready to cum, sweetie?'_

_'Yes! Yes!' John cried into the sofa. He was trembling and so close. It wouldn't take long, a few strokes. He nodded frantically and shifted his cock closer to Sherlock's waiting hand. Sherlock gripped John's erection tightly and began to stroke his hand up and down in time with the erratic beats of his heart. John's breath hitched and his heart rate skyrocketed. He thrust into Sherlock's hand, pushing back on his cock, and was cumming within seconds. His entire body shook, his back arched and pushed his cock further into Sherlock's hand, and he was pretty sure he felt his heart skip a beat or two as well. Sherlock hid his face against John as with a stuttering breath he felt himself cum. He placed kisses along the broad width between his lover's shoulders and sighed happily. John was struggling to catch his breath but arched into Sherlock's kisses all the same. He gulped down lungfuls of air, trying to calm his speeding heart rate. He managed to breathe out a 'thank you' before having to gulp down more air._

_'You're welcome. You deserved that after today.' Sherlock pulled away and tugged both his trousers and John's back up. He twisted his lover back around and sat in his lap._

_'Jesus Christ,' John heaved between breaths. 'I think... No, that was the most powerful orgasm I've had in years. Jesus. Wow.' He ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair and breathed, finally catching his breath._

_'I think the extra noises on the side helped my drive.' Sherlock touched foreheads with John. 'What was that movie anyway? It sounded like a bad porno.'_

_'Don't judge me on the answer,' John said softly. 'But it was a __Sex and the City remake.'_

_Sherlock looked on at John gleefully. 'Trying to bring mini John out for a few fun and games were you?' He kissed his lover on the lips gingerly. 'It's much appreciated.'_

_'Not at first, no,' John smirked. 'But then you came out and had coffee and I know how you are on caffeine. And it was simply a happy coincidence that the sex part had started as soon as you jumped me.' He grinned and blushed, Sherlock's raised eyebrow making him laugh._

_'Ok, ok! So I skipped back to have some sexy background noises! Sorry, but it had spurred Little John on and you liked it too.'_

_'Mini Sherlock certainly liked the added sound effects,' Sherlock chuckled. 'And–' He hummed in thought. 'I want another coffee.' He kissed John's neck in urgency, knowing full well John would give him what he wanted._

_'Energy for another round?' John chuckled, arching his neck into Sherlock's kisses. 'I may have a cup myself. But you'll have to get off my lap so I can make it. Or you can join me in the kitchen.'_

_'I'll come with you and watch that beautiful arse of yours wiggle.' Sherlock grinned, getting off of John, pulling him to his feet, and slapping him on the right butt cheek._

_John laughed and leaned back against Sherlock's lanky frame. 'I want you to fuck me on the island,' he whispered against Sherlock's jaw._

_Sherlock laughed and shook his head. 'How about no. Make me.'_

_'I could always fuck you on the island,' John purred. He began to move to the kitchen, keeping his body connected to Sherlock's the entire way._

_Sherlock groaned. 'But you're so delicious. Little Sherlock's already popped out to say hello.'_

_'Mmm. Hello,' John purred, rubbing his arse against Sherlock's hard cock. 'Sure you want coffee first? Because I could take you right now. Ride you until you cum screaming.'_

_'I'll take the coffee,' Sherlock growled, pushing himself closer to John. The sooner his body got used to regular caffeine intake the better. As delightful as John's offer was._

_'Energy first, fucking after?' John asked with a smile. He pressed back, wriggling his arse against Sherlock's very hard and prominent erection._

_'Mmm. Please.' He poked out his tongue and ran it along John's neck. 'If that isn't too much to ask, dear.'_

_John's head lolled back onto Sherlock's shoulder and he moaned in pleasure, shuddering at how Sherlock's tongue felt against his skin. He moved almost drunkenly as he put more coffee in the filter and more water in the pot, turning it on and listening to it hum to life. John hummed himself, wiggling against Sherlock's cock as his husband's lips and teeth and tongue marked his neck._

_'I wuvv you,' Sherlock whispered. 'I love the way you make me feel, the way you catch me when I fall, and most importantly I love that throughout everything you didn't leave me to rot.' Sherlock nipped at John's skin. 'You are my other half, the one who completes me, and I can't thank you enough.'_

_'I wuvv you too, Sherlock,' John smiled. 'I love your brilliance, I love how perfect you make me feel, and how you're there for me and the kids even when you can't remember us. I love that you're helping Ben, supportive of Felicity, and now with little Mark.' John sighed and pressed himself to Sherlock's chest. 'I would never leave you to rot. I will always be here for you, no matter what. I love you too much to just up and abandon you all of a sudden for no apparent reason. I could never do that to you. You are my better half, and you make me better, you made me whole when I felt so empty, and I will always thank you for saving me. I love you so much.'_

_'Yes, but that loyal heart of yours is so damn beautiful.' Sherlock wrapped his arms around John tightly. 'It's what makes you so lovable. You're all heart, John. Unlike me. I was all mind and no heart. Now my mind is crumbling. And I need your heart more than ever. Does that sound silly?'_

_'No. It makes perfect sense,' John sighed. He wrapped his hands around himself, linking his hands with Sherlock's. 'And I promise to be here for you, always. Mind, body, heart, and soul.'_

_'I wish I could remember our wedding in detail,' Sherlock sighed heavily. 'It hurts that I missed out on giving you my vows. But I'm telling you now you have all of me, and you always will.'_

_'And you have all of me, whenever you need me, no matter what,' John smiled. He pulled Sherlock in for a soft kiss, their lips moulding together perfectly. The coffee maker beeped but John didn't pull away. He was perfectly content with kissing his husband at the moment._

_Sherlock sucked on John's lower lip before releasing it with an audible pop. 'Coffee, John?' he questioned after a minute of his husband simply staring at him giddily._

_'Hrm?' John grunted, still dazed from Sherlock's kiss. 'Oh. Coffee. Right. Yes.' He disentangled himself from Sherlock's arms and grabbed a pair of mugs, pouring the coffee into them and some creamer before passing one to Sherlock._

_Sherlock sniffed the coffee experimentally before raising the liquid to his lips and swallowing it as fast as he could despite the burning sensation in his mouth and throat caused by the scalding hot beverage. John merely raised an eyebrow as Sherlock gulped down his coffee. He sipped at his own, waiting for it to cool before he swallowed it in large gulps._

_'What's with the sudden caffeine intake?' John asked. 'Please don't replace one addiction for another.'_

_Sherlock removed the cup from his lips._

_'I'm not,' he lied coolly. 'I've simply had a tiring day and want my levels of energy to be high enough for when we resume our activities. Do you think me foolish enough to pick up a new addiction when I'm barely recovering from an old one?'_

_'No. I don't think you would be that idiotic,' John said softly. He drank the last of his coffee and sat his mug on the counter, taking Sherlock's and sitting it next to his._

_'So, where shall we resume our activities?' John purred, wrapping his arms around Sherlock's neck. 'Because now that I think about it maybe fucking on the island wouldn't be the best nor most comfortable idea.'_

_'Bed,' Sherlock said softly, glad John had bitten into the lie. He pressed his lips to his husband's and skimmed a hand down his side. John giggled slightly, squirming as Sherlock's hand went down his ribs. He could feel his heartbeat quickening, but he wasn't sure if it was because of the caffeine or Sherlock's actions._

_'Yes, bed,' he agreed between Sherlock's kisses. He tangled his fingers in Sherlock's curls and pulled, his tongue reaching for Sherlock's when his mouth opened in shock._

_The kiss was intense and energised. The two men didn't take their lips off of each other. They stumbled out of the kitchen, and by some miracle made it to the stairs and up them without injuring themselves. John walked backwards to their bed, leading Sherlock with his lips until he felt the back of his knees hit the mattress. He quickly flipped their positions, Sherlock falling onto the mattress and John landing on him, still snogging._

_'God,' Sherlock panted, breaking free. 'Coffee certainly spices things up a little.'_

_'Yes, it certainly does,' John panted, his eyes wide from the caffeine. He began placing kisses down Sherlock's body, pushing up his shirt so he could lick and suck at his chest and nipples._

_Sherlock began to pant heavily, placing kisses to the underside of John's jaw. 'Love you John,' he breathed. Those words were as meaningful as the first time he'd said them, if not more so._

_'Love you too,' John purred. 'So, do you want to take me again? Or do you want me to take you?'_

_'Take me! Take me!' He bucked upwards boisterously. 'Take me!'_

_'Oh the wonders of caffeine,' John laughed. He snaked a hand down Sherlock's torso and cupped him through his trousers. 'How do you want to be taken?'_

_'I don't care! Just take me!' Sherlock yelled at the top of his lungs, his erection throbbing like hell._

_'Take off all your clothes,' John ordered. 'And get the lube.' He sat up and stripped off his own shirt, easing his trousers down agonisingly slowly. His erection bobbed free and he heard Sherlock groan at the sight. He grinned like a mad man and wiggled his hips, his erection wagging like a happy dog's tail. Sherlock pulled his clothes off at lightning speed. He crawled across the bed and grabbed the lube from the bedside table. He lay on his back, legs spread wide._

_'Go ahead, dear.'_

_John crawled up Sherlock's lanky frame, kissing him passionately for a long time. When he finally pulled away he snatched the lube from Sherlock's hand and coated three fingers in the gel. Sherlock was still open from John's brutal pounding earlier, so he easily pushed the three inside, going slow in case Sherlock's arse was still sore._

_Sherlock hissed as John entered him, biting his lip hard. He shook his head at John's concerned expression. 'Just a tad sore. It's ok. Continue.'_

_John nodded and moved his fingers in deeper, searching for Sherlock's prostate. He dragged his fingers across it gently once he found it, prodding it every now and again. Sherlock's pain was replaced by a bout of utter pleasure and he found himself floating into paradise. He arched upwards and uttered a string of incoherent words._

_'You're babbling, love,' John grinned. 'My babbling brook.' He removed his fingers and quickly placed the head of his aching prick at Sherlock's entrance. He slicked himself with his lubed hand and gently pushed inside, smiling as Sherlock's babbling increased._

_'I can't help but babble. You completely fry my brain.' Sherlock managed to piece together a coherent sentence at last. He pushed backwards against John and moaned. 'You make it impossible to think.'_

_'You have no idea how that makes me feel,' John grinned, thrusting into Sherlock with gusto. 'That I, ex-Army doctor John Hamish Watson, can turn the great Sherlock Holmes into a babbling idiot.'_

_'Am not an idi–oh fuck!' Sherlock shuddered around John's member. 'Ok. Maybe I am. I'm your idiot.'_

_'Yes, that's exactly what you are,' John purred, thrusting faster. 'You're my beautiful idiot. And I love you.'_

_'Love – eh – you,' Sherlock grunted, rocking backwards. 'Touch me. Please?'_

_John's lubed hand groped Sherlock's prick, stroking slowly. 'Like that?' he asked with a smirk._

_'Faster!' Sherlock barked, rutting up into John's hand. John fucked Sherlock faster, wanking him in time to his thrusts. Sherlock was tight and hot; Sherlock was home. But god, he felt fucking fantastic around John's cock, his hot prick throbbing in his fist. John wanted more, wanted him every day, but with him getting clean those days wouldn't happen very often._

_So, John fucked Sherlock harder, flesh meeting with loud slaps, bodies warming and sweating in exertion. John bent down and kissed Sherlock soundly, tongues sliding together, fucking him like there was no tomorrow. Sherlock couldn't think, could barely move, or keep up with John's fast and forceful movements. His breath was barely making it out of his lungs. His mouth lay open, a victim of John's lips. His body was burning up as his heart pounded relentlessly in his chest. He felt hot, flustered, and out of control. But most of all he felt bloody brilliant. John continued to pound into Sherlock, his heartbeat racing from more than exertion now. He squeezed Sherlock's prick, wanking him just a little faster, focusing on the most sensitive parts to make his sweetie come undone. He released Sherlock's lips with an audible pop and gasped for air, bending down to suck and nip at one of his nipples as soon as he caught his breath._

_**Come on, come on. Cum for me love. Cum for me. Let me know I can fuck you without hurting you. Cum for me. Please.**_

_As John twirled his tongue around Sherlock's nipples the ex-detective could feel himself coming undone completely._

_'Yes!' he cried out loud as John continued to pump him in time with his manic thrusts. 'Nearly there. Nearly there.'_

_'Is the Master going to cum for the Doctor?' John purred against Sherlock's chest. He shifted slightly, lifted Sherlock's hips, and found his prostate, hitting it in a steady rhythm as he moved to Sherlock's other nipple. He clamped his mouth around it, sucking on it while swirling his tongue around the sensitive peak._

_Sherlock's eyes grew wide as John found all of his sensitive spots at once. He nodded eagerly and arched upwards. 'Yes! Yes Doctor! What was that saying of yours? Allons-y!' he called out as he came. The orgasm that hit him was powerful and shook him to the core._

_John felt Sherlock's cock throb and pulse as he came, felt his cum spurt out onto his chest in hot, excited streams. When Sherlock had caffeine every part of him was affected, and John loved that little fact._

_'Yes. That's my saying. Allons-y!' John said, fucking Sherlock furiously. 'Nearly there myself. You feel so fantastic, Master. Oh, I love being up your arse. So tight and hot, stretched solely for my cock and no one else's.' John gasped slightly, his prick threatening to cum._

_'Bite me?' he asked gently. 'Gently, of course. Or, you could play with my own nipples. Please, Master. Help me cum into your tight, warm, arsehole.'_

_Sherlock frowned as a memory of John almost bleeding to death because he had bitten him sprang to mind. That had been a long time ago but he still didn't want to risk that happening again. Instead he leant forwards and began to suck John's right nipple, swirling his tongue around it, and squeezing his lips tightly around it. John gasped and writhed under the power of Sherlock's tongue. He thrust faster, his hips stuttering as he neared his release._

_'Ugh, yes, yes!' he cried. 'Oh. Oh, fuck! Yes! God, yes!'_

_Sherlock sucked harder on John's nipple. He was close, he could tell. John's hips froze and he gasped sharply. His eyes popped open and his thrust once more before he came hard._

_Sherlock cried out sharply as John came within him. 'Oh god! Hmmm.' He licked John's nipple one more time before letting his head rest on the mattress._

_'Oooooh,' John moaned, sinking down onto Sherlock's chest. He hummed and nuzzled his husband's neck._

_'Glad that my prick decided to behave this time,' he mumbled._

_'Me too,' Sherlock sighed happily. 'Don't pull out just yet. Just want you to stay inside me for a bit,' he smirked._

_'Ok,' John smiled. He wiggled slightly, post-orgasm shivers travelling down his spine as he did._

_Sherlock ran a hand down John's chest. 'Still so sexy after all these years,' he chuckled. 'I believe before I met you I didn't know the meaning of sexy, nor was I particularly bothered by that fact.'_

_'I find that hard to believe because you were a walking marble statue,' John laughed softly. 'How could you not know what it meant to be sexy when you were a living personification?'_

_'Yes, well no one was ever brave enough to tell me. So how was I supposed to know?' Sherlock shrugged. 'I think that the human parts in the fridge tended to put them off.'_

_'Or you were too gorgeous people were mystified by you and we're too nervous to approach you,' John smiled softly. 'And maybe the body parts were a tad creepy for normal humans.'_

_'Are you saying you're abnormal?' Sherlock raised an eyebrow in amusement._

_'Yes, but in a good way,' John smiled. 'Or I'm a special kind of person. One who can tolerate your quirks. And I love them all.'_

_'You're definitely special,' Sherlock agreed. 'Any specific quirks of mine that you love more than others?'_

_'It's too difficult to choose,' John smiled. 'But I do like how you would talk to the skull when you thought I wasn't around. I swear I heard you call him John instead of Billy once or twice.'_

_Sherlock blushed crimson in colour. 'You must have misheard me.'_

_'Your blush just confirms it,' John grinned. 'It's ok. I find it kind of sweet. That you still talk to me even when I'm not there. Just proves how deep our bond runs.'_

_'Yes, or it just shows I'm insane,' Sherlock retorted._

_'There's nothing wrong with being insane,' John said softly. 'Your brand of insane is, while sometimes infuriating, was exciting and dangerous and fun.'_

_'Fun?' Sherlock giggled. 'Hmm, but we both know what you find really fun.' He wriggled his arse slightly, John still seated fully in him._

_'Oh yes. This is quite fun,' John sighed, moving with him. He was starting to get hard again, and he wasn't totally against that. 'Do you want me to take you again, or do you want to take me?'_

_Sherlock was just about to say that he wanted to be taken again when he heard a noise downstairs akin to a crash and someone groaning in pain._

_'It would seem neither. Ben's awake,' he sighed heavily in a brief lit of sexual frustration._

_'Shit,' John whispered. 'Go check on him, ok? I'll be down as soon as I can. And, you may want to clean up first. You smell like coffee, cum, and sex. And I don't think our son wants to smell that on you right now.'_

_'Let me hop in the shower... That is if I can move.' Sherlock looked down and smiled. 'And if you get out of my arse too.'_

_'Ugh. Don't wanna,' John pouted. He rolled off Sherlock though, settling on his back and frowning at his half hard prick._

_'Suddenly it decides to cooperate,' he mumbled. 'I'm blaming the caffeine.'_

_'Oh dear,' Sherlock snickered. 'What are you going to do?' He heaved himself up off the bed, kissing John and squeezing his member playfully for a brief second. He threw a grin at John before walking towards the bathroom as fast as his sore arse would allow._

_John groaned when Sherlock squeezed him, his prick going from only half hard to almost full on erect at the contact. He grinned and stood, following Sherlock into the bathroom._

_'I'm going to join you,' he purred. 'And, hopefully, you're going to suck me off.'_

_'I will not.' Sherlock shook his head in amusement. 'I plan to clean up as quickly as possible before Ben does something stupid.'_

_'But... What about Little John?' the bigger John pouted. 'He loves your mouth. Especially your tongue.'_

_'Little John will have to cope for now,' Sherlock purred, turning on the shower and stepping inside._

_John pouted but followed Sherlock into the shower._

_'Can you at least wank me for a little while?' he asked in a small voice. 'I know you should be tending to Ben, but Little John is clouding my judgment. 'And, when you do tend to him, please try to be quick and efficient. Because I'm not going to make myself cum unless I'm seated in your arse. Or you are in mine.'_

_Sherlock looked down at Little John. 'Very well, dear.' He wrapped his fingers around big John's member and began squeezing tightly as he twisted his hand around Little John._

_John moaned and sighed, closing his eyes as Sherlock touched him._

_'Thanks, love,' he breathed, rutting his hips slightly._

_'No problem. I'd hate to leave you in such a hard situation.' He laughed loudly. 'Now let's make this quick, ok?'_

_John nodded frantically, bracing himself against the shower wall as Sherlock's hand moved faster._

_'Come on, dear. You can do it,' Sherlock cooed, groping John tighter._

_John groaned and arched into Sherlock's touch, panting at the glorious sensations running through him._

_'Yes,' he whispered through gritted teeth. 'Yes. Come on, yes!' He came sharply and quickly; not very satisfying. But he knew that his and Sherlock's activities would continue soon enough, so he was fine with a simple filler orgasm._

_'Mmm. Thanks, love,' he sighed, resting against the cool tile of the shower._

_Sherlock nodded in understanding. 'It's fine, dear. Now let's get cleaned up, yes?' He let go of Little John and stepped fully into the water spray._

_'Yes. Let's,' John smiled, finally opening his eyes. While Sherlock worked on washing the smell of cum and sex off his body, John decided to wash his hair. He hasn't for quite some time and he felt Sherlock would enjoy it immensely. He picked up Sherlock's shampoo, poured a sizeable amount into his palm, lathered, and began working the pads of his fingers on Sherlock's scalp._

_Sherlock purred. 'I thought I said quick, John. Did I say turn me into a puddle of goo at your fingertips?' He hummed. 'I must have. Damn.'_

_'Haven't done this in a while. Decided to seize the opportunity,' John said softly. His fingers moved along Sherlock's scalp, massaging gently._

_'But Ben might–' Sherlock was cut off by a yell from downstairs from the boy in question. He groaned. '–need my help,' he finished, paling a little._

_'Shit,' John cursed. He moved Sherlock's head under the spray, rinsing the shampoo out before ushering him out and into a towel. 'Dry off quick and get dressed. I'll join you in a moment. Just need to clean myself up.'_

_Sherlock stumbled out of the shower and hurried to the wardrobe, chucking on a pair of dark blue pyjama bottoms and a white t-shirt, not even bothering to dry off._

_He practically sprinted out the bedroom and down the stairs, ignoring the stinging of his arse, running on fear alone. 'Ben?!' he questioned, calling out to his son. 'Ben?'_

_'Fuck!' came his reply. 'Help!'_

_He stormed into Ben's bedroom and swore as he saw his son sprawled out on the floor, shaking like he was possessed. He was quick to reach him and pull him into a tight embrace. 'It's ok, Ben. I've got you now.'_

_'What... What's happening?' Ben asked, looking up at his father with fear in his eyes._

_'Your body and mind are rebelling against the lack of drugs in your system. It'll hurt. I'm sorry.' Sherlock cradled his son in his arms, rocking back and forth._

_'Does it normally happen this fast?' Ben asked, still quaking in his father's arms. 'I've never had it happen so fast before.'_

_'You've been giving your body more drugs than usual lately, yes?' Sherlock asked softly. 'You've made yourself dependent on them.'_

_'Fuck,' Ben spat. A violent shudder ripped up his spine suddenly. Ben whimpered at the intensity of it, stiffening in Sherlock's arms._

_'Shhh.' Sherlock ran a hand through Ben's hair. 'You're going to have to ride through it. I'm not going anywhere, ok?'_

_'How long will it last?' Ben grit out, gasping as another shudder ripped through him._

_'It depends on the person and how frequent your drug use was. There's no way I can tell.' Sherlock swallowed. 'I can remember it lasting for a while for me though. Again. I am so sorry. You've just got to stay strong.'_

_'How long did it last for you? Gah! Fuck!' Ben's spine curved back and he gasped at the intensity of it all. Tears were shining in his eyes but he refused to shed any._

_'I don't think you want to know that.' Sherlock hugged Ben tighter. 'I don't want to make your situation seem more dire.'_

_Ben whimpered and cried out as his body tried to twist itself in painful positions. Now Ben was crying. It was too much._

_John arrived then, out of breath as he had run the entire way. His hair was mussed from drying it quickly, his shirt on backwards, and his trousers hanging low on his hips._

_'Is he ok? What do we do? Should I start a hot bath or shower?' he asked frantically._

_Sherlock continued to clutch to his son. 'A hot bath,' he nodded. 'Is that ok, Ben? It'll make you feel better, promise.'_

_Ben nodded slowly, his eyes clenched shut._

_'Make it stop,' he rasped. John dashed off to the bathroom, plugging the drain in the tub and running the hot water. He didn't care if it was scalding hot or not, he just wanted Ben to feel better._

_Sherlock scooped Ben into his arms. 'I'll try my very best,' he whispered gently. He carried him to the bathroom and placed him on the floor. He removed his son's clothes, leaving his boxers on to save his dignity._

_'Come on.' He raised him again and placed him into the water carefully. He gulped, glancing at John who had clearly seen their son's scars. He shook his head and mouthed, 'Don't ask him.'_

_John paled and swallowed, nodding his head. Ben continued to shake in the water, splashing it around as his limbs flailed beyond his control. They started to relax as the hot water registered, his flailing easing slightly._

_'Do you mind leaving for a few minutes, John? I want to talk to Ben. Alone,' Sherlock asked his husband gingerly. John looked slightly hurt but nodded. Sherlock knew what he was doing, had the most experience in the area, so he should be the one to care for Ben. He left the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He moved to the sitting room, curling up on the couch, staring at the telly. His movie was still paused on the screen. He sighed and turned off the television, turning to face the back of the couch._

_Sherlock let out a sigh and turned to Ben. 'How are you holding up?'_

_'Better,' Ben managed. 'Shakings not so bad.'_

_'Good,' Sherlock smiled weakly. He let out another sigh. 'I've started detoxing as well. Won't be long till my shakes start too. Your dad isn't looking forward to that. Us both shaking and fending off our demons.'_

_'Wish he didn't have to go through dealing with us,' Ben muttered. 'He's gonna hate us.'_

_'No he's not.' Sherlock shook his head. 'He's just worried about us.'_

_'Still wish he didn't have to deal.' Ben shuddered again, though it wasn't as intense as before. 'Wish he didn't have to go through this with us.'_

_'I know. Which is why we have to stay strong. For him.' Sherlock glanced away from Ben. 'I've already started my caffeine intake so I can help you through this without... you know.'_

_'Without skipping it entirely?' Ben offered._

_'Yes,' Sherlock replied. 'Without that.'_

_'Ok. And how's it going so far? Hyperactive nerves on fire?' Ben smirked._

_'You could say that,' Sherlock returned the smirk. 'I've already had two cups. I think your dad's suspicious already.'_

_'Dad would be,' Ben laughed. 'But if you've been using your energy for... other activities–' A shudder ripped through him for an entirely different reason. '–then maybe he isn't as suspicious as he would normally be.'_

_'And hopefully I'll be able to distract him for the duration of this whole, erm, experiment,' Sherlock chuckled. 'And if he does notice I'll simply sulk. That usually works.'_

_'He's a sucker for puppy eyes,' Ben smirked._

_'He is,' Sherlock grinned. 'Whenever I wanted a smoke I'd give him those puppy eyes. He'd always hide them from me,' he pouted. 'Said I was doing well on my patches. But in the end I always won.'_

_'So, how long are you planning on staying awake for?' Ben asked softly. 'And don't say forever because that is physically impossible. The human body can't survive without sleep. And I think the longest anyone has stayed awake at one time is two weeks.'_

_'Then let it be two weeks. And if I last longer then so be it.' Sherlock puffed out his cheeks. 'Because I'm not going to close my eyes. Not by choice. I'll sleep when exhaustion takes me.'_

_'Don't be stupid about this,' Ben scolded. 'I don't want you dying from sleep deprivation, especially during a detox. If you feel like you can't keep your eyes open, go to sleep. If you wake up and it's a few months later, so be it. You can talk to me since you've told me what you think is going on. I just don't want you to die from a stupid cause. Understood?'_

_'It's not a stupid cause, Ben. It's for you.' Sherlock's brow creased. 'I want to be there for you.'_

_'I realise that,' Ben said. A hand eased up out of the water and grasped Sherlock's, squeezing tight. 'But I don't want you to be an idiot about it. Yes, I want you to be there for me while I'm going through all this. But I also want you to take care of yourself while you detox. Ok? Don't forget about yourself and don't focus solely on me.'_

_'That's going to be a challenge.' He attempted a smile, squeezing Ben's hand back. 'How can I focus on myself when I know you're going through hell?'_

_'I'll have Dad,' Ben offered. 'Or, you get Dad to take care of you while you take care of me.'_

_Sherlock nodded but slowly. 'About your dad,' he sighed, frowning. 'I don't think he's coping with any of this at all. I don't want to rely on him too much.'_

_'How do you mean?' Ben asked softly._

_'He was really quite distraught earlier when he found your drugs and supplies. I think he blames himself for everything.' Sherlock looked at Ben with sad eyes._

_'Dad always does,' Ben sighed, sinking into the water. 'I wish he didn't. I didn't start because of him. I started because... I, uh, wanted to impress a girl.'_

_Sherlock pursed his lips together. 'I know. Felicity told me and your dad the whole story earlier.' He exhaled through his nose harshly. 'So, my son is a hit with the ladies?' He raised his right eyebrow. 'Though apparently ones whom are of the wrong crowd.'_

_'Oh yes,' Ben grinned. 'The ladies love Bad Boy Benedict Holmes. And while they may be of the "wrong crowd" they're good everywhere else.'_

_Sherlock blushed and looked away from his son awkwardly. 'I'm glad you at least have somewhat of a love life in your teenage years.'_

_Ben laughed. 'Yeah. Somewhat. But you must have been a hit too. I mean, come on. If I'm your son and I look anything like you did at my age, I mean you must have had some offers.'_

_'No,' Sherlock said a little too quickly. 'I mean... No,' he said slower than before, shaking his head. 'I was told that caring wasn't an advantage, that emotions would bring about the fall of the man, and I was branded as a freak by both my father and the rest of society. The only two words spoken to me through university were "piss off" and to be honest, with my drug use and higher intellect I wanted nothing to do with other human beings. The first and only relationship I have ever been in is with your dad.' His blush turned darker and he continued to look away from his son._

_'Wait. Was... Was Dad your first?' Ben asked incredulously._

_Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose as shame swallowed him whole. 'Yes. He was my first everything, Ben.'_

_'As... embarrassing as that is, I have to admit it's actually kind of romantic,' Ben smiled. 'That you two were each other's first, in many ways, and you're still together. Not a lot of people can say they married their first. But you two can.'_

_'I suppose if you put it that way it doesn't make me look completely hopeless.' Sherlock turned back to Ben with a small smile playing at his lips._

_'Just say you were saving yourself for the right person,' Ben said. 'I only wish I'd done the same.'_

_'At least you'll have a bit of experience behind you for when you do find the right person,' Sherlock tried to reassure his son._

_'Yeah, sure,' Ben sighed. 'It wasn't even that good, ya know?' He looked up at Sherlock and blushed. 'I mean, it barely lasted two minutes. And then she left. Just up and got dressed and left.'_

_Sherlock snorted. 'Forget her. If she's going to treat you like that then she's not worth it. Not that I approve of her getting you into the drugs even if she had treated you right.'_

_He smiled to himself. 'Because the first time with your dad was bloody fantastic. Don't get me wrong. It wasn't perfect. It was far from perfect. I was high on a homemade drug and inexperienced and your dad had only been with women before.' He chuckled at how mortified his son looked._

_'Sorry,' he apologised. 'It was a good memory. I don't have nearly enough of those up in my mind palace.'_

_'I was high as a fucking kite too,' Ben admitted. 'Honestly, I don't remember much. I don't remember the girl or her name. All I remember is that she bedded me and left as soon as it was over.'_

_'My high wasn't a high that would affect my memory... it did however effect my body quite severely.' He blushed again. 'Anyway, you don't want or need to hear about that.'_

_'No, I really don't,' Ben blushed._

_Sherlock chuckled. 'Saying that I can at least tell you about the day previous. The chemicals were quite slow working you see. The effects on my mind happened the day before. I can tell you that fairies, unicorns and Leprocorns were all involved in my hallucinations.'_

_'I don't see anything like that,' Ben said softly. 'I wish I saw fairies and peaceful stuff like that.'_

_'That's only with my homemade chemicals, Ben. With the hard stuff that you're on right now–' He made a sharp noise in the back of his throat. 'I saw shit so terrible that it made me want to–' He stopped mid-sentence. 'I'm not going to finish that.'_

_'Yeah. Same here,' Ben sighed. He took a deep breath and sunk under the water, letting it surround his pounding head. The warmth was quite welcome but it only made his head pound harder. He resurfaced, gasping for breath, cringing at the sharp pains pounding away in his skull._

_'It feels like someone's beating my head from the inside out,' he grit out. 'Like there's something trapped inside and is trying to escape.'_

_Sherlock nodded, knowing full well how much it hurt to detox from drugs. 'I'm sorry that there's nothing I can do to stop that.' He leant forwards and placed a light kiss upon the top of Ben's curls._

_Ben groaned and rested his pounding head against the cool tiles of the bathroom wall._

_'Why did I have to be such a bloody idiot?' he groaned in frustration._

_'It runs in the family, sorry,' Sherlock chuckled lightly._

_Ben returned the light chuckle._

_'Could you get me some aspirin?' he asked softly._

_'Yes, sure,' he said softly. 'I'll have to ask your dad where they are though. Blasted memory.'_

_'They're in the cupboard behind the mirror,' Ben said, pointing to the mirror above the sink._

_'Oh.' Sherlock felt truly idiotic. 'Of course.' He opened the cupboard and pulled out a box of aspirin. 'Are you ok swallowing them dry or shall I fetch you a drink?'_

_'I can dry swallow,' Ben said softly. 'Had a bit of practice on... other things.' He blushed._

_Sherlock raised an eyebrow, blushing a little too, but enjoying the fact that his son was so embarrassed. 'So, a hit with the men too?' He was beaming from ear to ear as he passed two white pills over to Ben._

_'A bit, yeah.' Ben blushed further. He tossed the pills in his mouth and swallowed harshly. 'I mean, I haven't gone that far with another bloke before. Just... oral stuff.'_

_'It's fine, Ben,' Sherlock told his son. 'It's all fine.'_

_'Hey, that's Dad's line,' Ben smirked. He settled down into the water, stretching his legs out until his toes surfaced. He was getting too long for the bath. Damn._

_'What? And I can't borrow it?' Sherlock joked. 'It's a good line.'_

_'It is a good line,' Ben smiled. 'And it can mean so many things too.'_

_'He always used it on me,' Sherlock said with a soft sigh. 'Often once we'd cooled off from having arguments like an old married couple.'_

_'Ah. So he used it in the "it's all fine I forgive you" way,' Ben nodded slowly, not wanting to disturb his head. 'He used the "it's all fine, I accept you for who you are" on me when I told him I was bi.'_

_'There's nothing wrong with being bi,' Sherlock snorted. 'Today's society has to categorise everything. I know that I certainly can't put my and your dad's relationship into a category.'_

_'I thought you were gay?' Ben asked, confused. 'And Dad was bi?'_

_'Oh here we go. Categorising. I told you.' Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'It's far more complicated than that.'_

_'How is it more complicated?' Ben asked, peering over at his father. 'You only like men, Dad likes men and women. How is that complicated?'_

_'Ben, before I met your dad, the only sexual attraction I felt towards someone was myself. I was one hell of an asexual bastard. I suppose that's one of the reasons I was scared to tell him how I felt. I suddenly wasn't asexual anymore. Except I was. It was just him. As for your dad...' Sherlock shrugged. 'I don't know. But I at least know that he wasn't a true bisexual. No, he was far too nervous and jittery for our first time. He hadn't been with another man before. Try and put that into a category Ben. Go on, try.'_

_Ben stared back, flabbergasted. He blinked and shook his head._

_'Ok. I get it. I just... Well, I guess things aren't all black and white. There's a multitude of grey areas in between.'_

_Sherlock nodded. 'Remember that and apply it to life in general and you may go places, Benny.' His eyes widened and he swallowed. 'I, uh, Ben. I apologise.'_

_'No, it's ok,' Ben sighed, settling back in the water. 'You can call me Benny if you want. I just didn't want you to this morning because I was on edge and needed drugs.'_

_'You're still in need of drugs and it won't be long till you're on edge once more,' Sherlock pointed out. 'I'd really rather not get yelled at again,' he mumbled._

_'Well, when I'm in good moods feel free,' Ben said. 'All my friends – well, I say friends. But they call me Benny.'_

_'Ok, Benny,' Sherlock replied in a small, experimental voice._

_'Thanks, Dad,' Ben said softly._

_'No problem. How's the head?' he asked softly. 'Have the pills started working their magic yet?'_

_'Sort of,' Ben groaned. 'It's probably be better if I had a scalp massage. Could you do that?'_

_Sherlock nodded and reached forwards tentatively, moving his spidery fingers in small motions on Ben's scalp. 'I'm afraid it's your dad that gives wonderful head massages, not me,' he smirked. 'He's fascinated with my curly locks even after all these years.'_

_'I always liked it when he washed my hair,' Ben sighed. 'I always felt weak in the knees afterwards, but in the best possible way. You aren't doing too bad though.'_

_Sherlock hummed. 'I mentioned the asexuality thing, yes? I was quite used to giving myself head massages. I bloody enjoyed it too. I half thought I was attracted to myself.' He continued to work his fingers through Ben's hair._

_'Narcissist much?' Ben joked, smiling up at his father. He hummed and pressed closer to Sherlock's fingers. 'This feels pretty bloody fantastic, too.'_

_'There's nothing wrong with loving yourself,' he huffed before nodding._

_'Good.' Sherlock worked his fingers methodically along Ben's skull. 'It should help a little. At least I hope it will.'_

_'Yes, but you can also love yourself a little too much,' Ben mumbled. His head lolled towards Sherlock's magical fingers, wanting more contact._

_'Too much?' Sherlock questioned. 'You can never love yourself too much. I loved being the most brilliant man in the room at all times.'_

_'I do too, but there's a fine line between being brilliant and being a smug, know-it-all prick,' Ben groaned. 'I had to learn that the hard way.'_

_'Let me guess. Someone punched you in the face? Or – wait, no.' Sherlock studied Ben closely. 'Worse than punched.' He licked his lips in clear agitation and sighed. 'I know what that feels like. Beaten and treated as an outsider just for being a show off. It's not our faults. We're show offs. It's in our blood. It's what we do.'_

_'They threw me in a dumpster and locked the lid,' Ben sniffled. 'Now, not only do I hate the smell of tuna sandwiches, but I'm also claustrophobic.'_

_Sherlock shuddered. 'Bastards,' he muttered angrily under his breath._

_'As for the claustrophobia I can sympathise with entirely. My cellar was quite a tight spot to spend your nights in.'_

_'How did you survive that?' Ben asked softly. 'Why didn't you just end it all?'_

_'To tell you the truth Benny, I barely did. I became a sickly child as a result of spending my nights in the cold, damp cellar. Sometimes my father would beat me hard enough to make me pass out cold. Other times I thought I would bleed to death from my wounds.' He paled, his eyes turning stony and his head feeling heavy with the weight of his past. 'I suppose that's why I started the drugs and the cutting. I wanted to end it all, I really did. However I was such a coward. I was terrified of the thought of dying.' He frowned deeply. 'Sorry. You probably don't want to be hearing such things.'_

_'I probably don't, but I want to hear them anyway,' Ben said softly. 'Because if I know how you survived, maybe I can too.' He looked down at his arms, the needle marks littering the inside of his elbows and the razor slashes covering nearly every inch of his lower arms. He frowned and cursed himself. Why did he have to do such stupid things?_

_Sherlock's gaze wandered to where his son was looking. He sighed, feeling nothing but compassion for Ben. 'If it helps, my scars are much worse. And I survived and pulled through.'_

_'What? The scars on your arms? Because I've seen those and they aren't nearly as bad as mine.' Ben frowned and placed his arms behind his back, sinking into the water until his nose was just barely above water level._

_'Those faded a long time ago,' Sherlock agreed. 'Nothing but faint reminders. However, my back is a battlefield and tells a thousand stories.'_

_'Oh,' Ben mumbled softly from under the water. He looked up at Sherlock with sad eyes._

_'Are you curious about what they look like even after all this time?' Sherlock questioned, his voice a little miserable. 'Because it's ok if you are. I could show you if you like.'_

_'I don't want to see them unless you're comfortable showing me,' Ben said softly, raising out of the water so his chin was above the water level._

_Sherlock brought his hands to the soft material of his t-shirt. They were shaking terribly so and it took him far longer than it should have to pull off the item of clothing. He took a deep breath, still facing forwards in the direction of his son._

_'Ready?' he asked, voice holding an unusual tremor to it._

_'As I'll ever be,' Ben answered in an equally small voice._

_Sherlock turned swiftly around, going for the ripping off a band aid as quick as lighting theory will be far less painful than slowly peeling it away. He stood there, his back to his son._

_Some of his scars had faded but for most of the deep lacerations, cuts and burns time had angered them and they had reddened with irritation and age. Some were thick, and some were spidery thin. They criss-crossed each other, entwining together. The word freak was still vibrant and visible and littered around it were an array of cigarette burns that seemed to sizzle on his flesh even now. His natural milky colored skin was marred and completely hidden by different shades of reds._

_He simply stood there, hardly daring to breathe._

_Ben stared at Sherlock's back, his eyes sweeping over the scarred surface, deducing and observing. What really captured his interest was the word 'freak' etched into the skin. It was a name he had been labeled for quite some time, had felt like he had been branded with it. Sherlock actually had. He gingerly lifted his hand from the water and placed it over the word, the warm water dripping down Sherlock's back in thick droplets._

_'I'm sorry,' Ben whispered. 'I'm so sorry.'_

_Sherlock hissed in pain and coiled back. 'It's fine,' he muttered sadly. He continued to stand with his back to him, not wanting to have to look him in the eyes. Ben quickly removed his hand like Sherlock's skin was on fire. He shoved it under the water and drew up his knees, resting his forehead on them, clenching his eyes shut._

_**You hurt him. You hurt Sherlock. Your own father. Why would you do that? How could you do that? You swore you would never hurt anyone again. After what happened with Melody? And David? Why would you do that?**_

_'Shut up,' Ben mumbled aloud. 'Shut up. Go away. Go away!'_

_'What?' Sherlock asked, his throat constricting, now even more terrified of facing his son. Did his son find his scars that disgusting that he wanted him to go? A tear flickered down his cheekbone._

_'The voice,' Ben sniffled. 'Go away. Make it go away.'_

_Sherlock frowned and finally turned around. 'Oh, Benny,' he whispered sorrowfully. He crouched by the bath and looped his arms around his son. 'Can you try and focus on my voice? Forget everything else. Just my voice.'_

_'It's too loud!' Ben screamed, his hands flying to cover his ears. 'It's too loud! Shut up! Shut up! Go away! I don't want you here!'_

_'Benny!' Sherlock shouted, shaking his son harshly. 'Just focus on me! Block that voice out. Lock it away. Just focus on me!'_

_'Don't yell!' Ben sobbed, grasping for Sherlock's arms. 'I don't like it when you yell.' He wasn't sure if he was talking to Sherlock or the voice at that point. John heard shouting coming from the bathroom and lifted his head, alert and his heart pounding in his throat. He uncurled himself from the couch and dashed back, bursting inside without knocking. Sherlock was clutching Ben, whom was sobbing and demanding that someone or something shut up. But that wasn't what scared John._

_What scared John was that Sherlock's back was to him and he was shirtless, and John had full view of the scars on his back. They were as red and angry as he first remembered them, if not more so. He stood there, confused. Hadn't those faded years ago? He could have sworn they had. Because he gave Sherlock massages after he woke up with hangovers and they had never looked so bad before. Why were they suddenly back?_

_'John, if you came in to help please do so. Don't just stand there.' Sherlock turned his head to face John and saw that he was staring at something. No, not something. His back._

_'You look like you've never seen my scars before,' he said, voice dripping with hurt._

_John shook his head. Best save that for another time. He made his way over to Ben who was clutching his head in his hands and rocking back and forth, muttering, 'Shut up, shut up,' under his breath._

_'Ben? It's Dad,' he said softly. 'Can you hear me?'_

_Ben nodded, still rocking and muttering._

_'Ok. Focus on me for a moment, alright?'_

_Ben nodded again._

_'Ok, now listen. That voice? I want you to shrink it down. Not just in volume but in size. Ok? Shrink it until it's the size of a mouse.'_

_Ben stopped muttering, listening and imagining._

_'Good. Now, pick up that voice and put it in a jar. Screw the lid on tight so you can't hear it.'_

_Ben stopped rocking._

_'Now, sit back and watch it suffocate.'_

_Ben grinned and laughed slightly. He gulped down lungfuls of air, giggling as he watched the voice die._

_Sherlock looked gratefully over to his husband. 'Thank you,' he smiled. That smile soon turned into a frown however when he saw John's eyes were flickering to his back once more. 'Can you stop that?' he spat defensively, turning his back away from him._

_John swallowed and looked away, blinking away tears of confusion and hurt._

_'Are you two going to be ok for a while?' he asked softly. 'Ben, would you like to go back to bed?'_

_'No,' Ben said softly. 'I mean, yes, I'll be fine but no, I don't want to go to bed. I want to stay in the bath for a little while longer if that's ok.'_

_'Sure, Ben. That's fine.' John placed a soft kiss to his forehead. 'Remember the suffocating thing for later if that happens again, ok?'_

_'Ok,' Ben smiled softly. John stood and looked down at Sherlock, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head, indicating he wanted him to follow. He looked back to Ben and smiled softly, taking his leave and going to the sitting room._

_Sherlock frowned and glared in the direction John had gone. 'What in God's name was that all about?' he muttered to himself, sitting fully on the floor now._

_'What was what about?' Ben asked, lounging back in the tub._

_'Your dad couldn't stop staring at my back. You'd think he'd be used to my scars by now.' Sherlock continued to frown in contemplation._

_'Maybe he hadn't seen them in a while,' Ben offered. 'Like, you guys haven't been... intimate in a while, so maybe he was just like, "Whoa, I forgot those were there."'_

_'No, that can't be it,' Sherlock shook his head. 'Because we have and he didn't focus on them then.'_

_'Ok, so... Earlier today he was fine with seeing them but now all of a sudden he isn't. What changed between the first time you were intimate today and now?'_

_'Nothing,' Sherlock said, confused and hurt. 'Well, I suppose you came home and we discovered your drugs and supplies. And then there were my flashbacks to my father trying to kill me. And we discussed my drug habits a little... But still, why would any of that change the way he sees my scars?'_

_'Maybe his view of them didn't change. Maybe your scars did.' Ben sat up slightly. 'Like, you know how some memories can cause physical aches and such? Maybe when you started remembering things about your father your scars flared up. I know I've had some of my scars do that when I remembered specific memories attached to them.'_

_Sherlock's mouth swung agape. 'Can scars really do that? Fade and then come back with a vengeance?'_

_'Honestly? I don't know.' Ben shrugged. 'But it's the best guess I've got.'_

_Sherlock swallowed thickly. 'Are they really quite bad?' he questioned, turning to try and get a look at his scars._

_'Honestly, Dad? They look like they're brand new, not faded and old,' Ben said softly. 'They're red and raw and they look like they hurt really bad.'_

_'They are rather sore,' he nodded._

_Sherlock turned himself into an awkward position, desperate to catch a glimpse of the raw feeling scars. However as he did so he felt his muscles spasm and a fierce some pain travel along his spine._

_'Fuck!' he yelled out, eyes watering as the pain continued to raid his back. The pain was so hot and intense that it was beginning to irritate his already irate scars. He tried to move but found himself stuck in a horrible position and unable to move a muscle. Waves of nausea began to rock through his body._

_After that things seemed to go into slow motion for him. His mouth opened and pure liquid began spilling out to the ground. It reeked of alcohol and caffeine and by the time all of it had been purged from Sherlock's stomach it had covered practically the entire bathroom floor. It was a vile brown color but had no solidity. His stomach suddenly felt very, very empty, and he realised to his shock horror that he was starving. There had been no food whatsoever in his system stating that he'd probably gone without for a good few days._

_As his brain finished deducing the contents he had just vomited up he fell painfully hard onto the floor and into the mess he had created. His entire body shook, purged of all its alcoholic contents, and all its contents full stop. As the smell of the alcohol based bile drifted up his nose he groaned. He wanted nothing more in the world to lap it up, which of course was wrong and repulsing, but to him in that moment it was as good as drinking the stuff first hand. Forgetting his son was watching, probably already terrified and horrified by the turn of events, he stuck his tongue out. Just one little taste. It wouldn't hurt. It couldn't hurt. It would make things better._

_'Sherlock, I swear to god, if you take one taste of that, forget rehab, I'll just kill you,' John said sternly from the door. He looked to Ben who was trembling again, covering his face so he wouldn't see the disgusting image of his father lying in a pool of his own bile. If only he hadn't heard what happened. John sighed loudly through his nose. He stepped into the bathroom and hauled Sherlock up, wiping him down with a towel before sitting him on the toilet._

_'Stay there,' he instructed, his inner captain coming out for the first time in years. He went over to Ben; he was still shaking and hiding behind his hands._

_'Ben, I'm sorry you had to see and hear that,' he apologised softly. 'But it's a normal thing during detox for an alcoholic. But that doesn't make it any better. If it's alright with you, I'm going to take you back to your room and put your father in here, alright?'_

_Ben nodded slowly. John hauled him up, carrying him in his arms, and took him back to his bed. His towel from earlier was on his floor, so John wrapped him in that._

_'Go ahead and get in some dry pants. I'll be back later to give you something to help you sleep.'_

_Ben nodded again and John went back to Sherlock. He stripped off his trousers and helped him into the lukewarm water, taking a damp washcloth and washing the bile from his skin. He didn't say anything, he didn't know what to say really, but he also knew Sherlock's head was probably pounding and he wanted silence for the time being. John just hoped he wouldn't pass out on him before he got him into bed._

_Sherlock's head was a pounding, throbbing mess. It felt too heavy for his neck to hold up. His throat hurt from throwing up so violently. And then his back, of course, the idiotic thing that had left him crippled, kept on twingeing._

_'Of all the time for my back to play up,' he rasped, glancing at John through glazed over eyes._

_John still didn't speak. He continued to wash Sherlock, going so far as to give him a scalp massage in lieu of washing his hair. Sherlock's back hadn't played up, his scars had returned. And they looked fresh, not old and faded like they should be. John was too confused to voice his worries, so he just massaged Sherlock's aching head instead._

_'Your silence is unnerving me, John,' Sherlock muttered weakly. 'Say something, anything, please.'_

_'You're a berk,' John huffed, continuing to massage Sherlock's head. He could feel his pulse beating in Sherlock's temples and he frowned._

_'I am not.' His head swayed to the side slightly. 'I couldn't have predicted this. There was no way to stop me from expelling the liquid in my stomach.'_

_'You said say anything,' John frowned. 'And you could have predicted this. With that much alcohol in an empty stomach? You should have seen this coming. When was the last time you ate, if you can remember?'_

_'I was unaware of how bad my situation had gotten. I was too focused on Benny I suppose. I don't know when I last ate. Don't I usually eat with you and the children?' Sherlock rubbed his stomach and, as though replying, it growled. 'I feel like I haven't eaten for a while though.' He looked over to John sadly. 'My muscles pulled in my back when I tried to look at my scars. The pain made my scars feel like they were on fire and I became nauseous. So I threw up before I could stop myself. I apologise.'_

_John sighed, his fingers stilling on Sherlock's head._

_'I'm sorry, love,' he apologised. 'I just... I've never done anything like this before. Helped someone through detox. And having to take care of two of you at once? It's going to be hard, and I'm going to need help. So, why don't you clean yourself up for a bit? I'll get Ben back into bed, then mop the floor in here. And then maybe I can get some toast in you. Does that sound ok?'_

_Sherlock nodded dumbly. 'Ok. Can you get me some coffee too? Water's dull.'_

_'No. The caffeine will only dehydrate you,' John said. 'You'll have milk or juice. No caffeine.'_

_'Don't care. I want a coffee,' Sherlock whined, pouting._

_'And I said no,' John said forcefully. 'While you're detoxing you need to take better care of yourself than you usually do. That means more hydration, more food, and more sleep. You can have caffeine during the day, but you've already had two cups and you threw them up all over the floor. I am not giving you more and that's final.'_

_Sherlock frowned at John moodily. 'Fuck you,' he snarled, not able to stop those two words fleeing from his mouth. He needed the caffeine. He didn't need sleep._

_'Fuck you too. Stupid git,' John mumbled under his breath. He left the room to tend to Ben, grabbing the sleeping pills from the kitchen medicine cupboard on the way._

_'Here,' he said, giving Ben the bottle. 'Take two of these and curl up in your blankets. You should be conked out within fifteen minutes.'_

_'Ok,' Ben nodded, taking two pills and handing the bottle back to John. He crawled into bed in clean pants and a sleep shirt, wrapping his blankets around him like a cocoon. 'How's Dad doing?'_

_'Being a berk, as always.'_

_'Be nice, ok Dad? He's having a rough time.'_

_'So are you, but at least you aren't demand caffeine from me.' Ben frowned, knowing why Sherlock wanted and needed the caffeine._

_'Why can't he have at least one cup of coffee?' he said softly. 'I imagine you're going to try to get some food in him, so why not let him have eggs and toast and juice and coffee? It's not like one little cup will hurt him.'_

_John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Why do you always have to be the rational one?' he smiled gently. 'Ok, I see your point. I'll let him have one cup, but only one. Now, go to sleep and we'll see how you feel in the morning, alright?'_

_'Alright.' Ben snuggled down in his blankets and hummed. John pressed a soft kiss to his forehead._

_'Love you,' he whispered._

_'Love you too,' Ben whispered back._

_John closed the door behind him and went back to the bathroom, Sherlock still sulking in the bath._

_'Ok, you can have the coffee,' he started. 'But only one cup and you have to eat all the food I give you. Understood?'_

_A smile crept along Sherlock's face. 'Thank you. I'll try my best to eat all you lay out for me.'_

_'Good,' John sighed. 'I'm sorry for being a stubborn idiot.'_

_'I'm sorry for being such a dick,' Sherlock apologised in return._

_'Clean up now, I'll mop, then you can watch me cook,' John smiled softly._

_Sherlock nodded. 'Can I ask you something first?'_

_'And what's that, love?'_

_Sherlock turned gently so his back was facing John. 'Do my scars disgust you?'_

_John blinked. He hadn't been expecting that._

_'No, love. Not at all,' he said softly. 'I've just never seen them so... inflamed and irritated before.'_

_'I don't believe you,' Sherlock replied in a small voice. 'Touch them.'_

_John blinked again. 'I am, well, I was a doctor, Sherlock,' he said gently. 'I've seen things far worse than this in the clinic. And in the war. Have you ever seen how mangled and torn the flesh is after a limb has literally been blown off a body? Because that looks a lot worse than your back.'_

_He gingerly raised a hand and placed it over the word 'freak,' same as Ben had. 'There. See? I'm not disgusted. Just concerned.'_

_Sherlock's breath hitched. 'They may not be the most terrible scars but fuck do they hurt.'_

_'They look really painful,' John observed._

_'They are,' Sherlock sighed tiredly._

_'They also look brand new,' John mused. He ran his thumb over a raised scar experimentally. It started to bleed under his touch._

_Sherlock yelped as he felt blood surge from one of his scars. 'J-ohn,' he stuttered. 'Make the pain stop.'_

_'Shit. I'm sorry, love.' John scrambled to get some cream and bandages. He gently washed Sherlock's back, more scars opening and bleeding as he did. He patted the cream on Sherlock's back in thick patches, wrapping the bandages around him to trap the blood._

_'I'm sorry, I'm sorry,' he apologised profusely._

_'It's... ok,' Sherlock swallowed. 'Just bloody clean that mess up on the floor and then get in here to make me feel better.'_

_'Ok,' John sighed. He kissed the back of Sherlock's neck and stood to grab the mop. He cleaned the floor quickly, soaking the mop in warm, soapy water afterwards. He stripped from his clothes and climbed in the bath with Sherlock, sitting in front of him and offering him a small smile._

_Sherlock gestured for John to come closer. 'Cuddle me?' he asked gently._

_John scootched closer, his legs sliding around Sherlock's side and pulling him close. He gently wrapped his arms across Sherlock's lower back, resting his head on his chest, listening to his heart._

_Sherlock nuzzled John with his nose. 'I want you, John,' he whined in a needy voice. 'I want you to take me.'_

_'I could sense that, yeah,' John smiled softly. He shifted slightly, Sherlock's hardening cock rubbing against his thigh. 'But I'm not taking you here. Not in the tub. The last time we tried that, well, that's how you sprained your back. And I'm not risking that again. Especially with your scars having flared up so badly too.'_

_'Can you carry me?' Sherlock asked, puppy dog eyes coming out to play. 'My legs won't be able to carry my weight. Not now at least. I feel weak. Probably from the lack of food in my system.'_

_'I could, yes,' John sighed. 'I wish you would eat first, though. But I know you won't. Where do you want to go?'_

_'The sofa.' He wriggled his eyebrows. 'I believe I have a few frisky movies myself that we could ride each other too.'_

_'Ooo,' John purred. 'Looking forward to that.' He unplugged the tub's drain and climbed out, drying himself off before helping Sherlock out and doing the same but gentler._

_Gently, he picked Sherlock up in his arms and carried him to the sitting room. 'How do you want us?'_

_'Lay me on the sofa and I'll tell you what DVD I want,' Sherlock growled, placing a kiss on John's jaw._

_'Oh, so we're adding background noises are we?' John purred. He laid Sherlock on the sofa, kissing him thoroughly once he was comfortable._

_'Mmm, yes,' Sherlock chuckled after John broke away. He scanned his eyes over the DVDs, searching for something erotic that would help John along. He sighed in thought, chewing on his lip. Nothing matched up to the memory of his and John's first time that he had by some miracle retrieved from his mind palace. However, his eyes caught a glimpse of a DVD with a blank cover, no title. He didn't know why, but he was drawn to that one._

_'That one, there.' He pointed to the chosen DVD._

_'Huh. Never seen that one before,' he mused. He grabbed it from the shelf and studied it. 'I really hope this isn't anything of one of the kids.' He popped the DVD into the player and waited for it to start. Much to his embarrassment it didn't belong to the kids._

_It was a tape of him and Sherlock and their first time together._

_Sherlock moaned. 'I wasn't aware that you filmed us, John. Though I'm glad that you did.'_

_'I... I didn't,' John gulped. He watched his younger self crawl on top of the younger Sherlock and began rutting over him like an animal. The memory of Sherlock busting through his pants surfaced just as it happened in the video. Both Johns groaned, the present John blushing crimson as his cock responded to the sound._

_'Well you must have taped it, John.' Sherlock let out a low wolf whistle as his younger self burst through his pants. 'Blimey. What were we? Horny teenagers?'_

_'Didn't tape it,' John mumbled. 'Mycroft–' He stopped when he recognised the signs of himself cumming. The him on the screen cried out, screaming Sherlock's name as he came. The real John whimpered in his seat, his cock hardening as he listened to himself cum._

_Sherlock shuddered at the thought of his brother taping his and John's activities. 'I don't want to think about that.'_

_He glanced over to John and grinned. 'Shall we copy our younger selves?' he questioned. 'Do a little role playing as ourselves?'_

_John was panting and he was achingly hard. He hadn't even touched himself and he was already leaking. He whimpered his agreement, not trusting his voice to form coherent sentences._

_'Come on then, John. Come and get me,' Sherlock challenged. John jumped Sherlock, mashing his lips on his, grinding against him, rutting like a teenager. Sherlock groaned loudly against John's hot lips pressed to his. The noises in the background were only growing in volume and he could tell that his husband was close._

_'If I remember correctly,' John groaned, 'this is about the time I gave you your first ever blow job. Do you want an accurate play-by-play representation role play?'_

_'God, yes,' Sherlock moaned in a low, gravelly voice. 'Make me into a whimpering mess. Make me into my past self.'_

_'Can't make any promises, but I'll do my best.' John kissed his way down Sherlock's chest, sucking his nipples into flushed peaks before nipping down his abdomen._

_Sherlock blew out his cheeks and shivered. 'Mmmm. Show me how much you love me, John.'_

_'Mmm, yes,' John moaned. He nipped at Sherlock's stomach before moving down to his engorged cock. He grasped the base and stood it straight, swirling his tongue around the head before sucking on it loudly._

_Sherlock groaned and thrust his hips upwards manically. His brow creased as he felt himself expand within John's mouth rapidly to the point of actually paining him. He gasped out and grunted. 'What the–?'_

_John moaned around Sherlock's engorged cock, bobbing his head along the amount he could swallow. He rose up and gasped for breath, panting over the head of Sherlock's cock._

_'God damn that fucking drug,' he gasped before swallowing a little more of Sherlock's massive cock._

_'John!' Sherlock exclaimed through gritted teeth. 'What the hell is–' His member throbbed, stretching to an even more abnormal size. '–going on?' he finished breathlessly._

_'That damn Viagra drug is what's going on, Sherlock,' John gasped, releasing Sherlock's prick with a pop. 'And I promised to give you a fucking fantastic blow job to help you out.'_

_Sherlock frowned. 'I'm not–' His breath shuddered. '–roleplaying right now, John. But I'll still take you up on that offer. I desperately need your help.'_

_John's lip twitched downwards. 'Then how the hell did your prick get so large? I thought that maybe you had somehow tricked your body into thinking you'd taken the drug. I wouldn't put it past you.'_

_'I've been rather preoccupied today, John. I haven't had time to do such a thing.' Tears shone in his eyes as he looked down at his member. 'Help me out with my problem, John. Now.'_

_'Do you still want the blow job or do you want me to take you? Because, if I remember correctly, the blow job took too long and was rather painful. But the taking you bit you seemed to enjoy more.'_

_'I just–' His entire body tensed up. 'Please can you just take my pain away?'_

_'I can try,' John murmured. He sealed his lips with Sherlock's, kissing him soundly. He held his fingers up to Sherlock's lips when he moved away, dragging them across his Cupid's bow until his lips parted._

_'Suck.'_

_Sherlock took John's fingers into his mouth, sucking them harshly, rolling his tongue over them. He moaned erotically and locked eyes with his husband. John stared into Sherlock's eyes, listening to their moaning coming from the telly. He'd never been so aroused in his life, nor had he ever thought that listening and watching a secret sex tape of him and Sherlock would be so erotic. He removed his fingers from Sherlock's mouth with a sickeningly sweet pop, moaning at how obscene the sound was. He swirled his two fingers around Sherlock's entrance, pushing against it slightly before easing them inside slowly._

_Sherlock rocked backwards on John's fingers. He looped his thin legs around John tightly. His eyes were heavy with lust and he was panting furiously. John licked his palm and grasped his prick, slicking himself up before he pushed the head of his prick against his fingers._

_Sherlock trembled and clutched to John tighter. 'Get... in,' he grunted. 'Get in now.'_

_'Yes, love,' John grunted. He pushed inside, his fingers spreading as he did. It felt weird having his fingers and his cock inside Sherlock at the same time, but it wasn't entirely uncomfortable._

_Sherlock's entire body shook. It felt strange with John's fingers and throbbing member in him at the same time. His arse felt like it was on fire. A number of gurgling sounds formed in the back of his throat._

_John thrust into Sherlock, scissoring his fingers slowly as he did._

_'Well this is... interesting,' he grunted, panting heavily. The Sherlock on the telly screamed John's name, the real John's cock pulsing at the sound of it._

_'It most certainly is,' Sherlock agreed with a loud moan. 'Do that again.'_

_'Hmm? You mean this?' John asked playfully, spreading his fingers and thrusting into Sherlock again._

_Sherlock nodded vigorously, closing his eyes and tilting his head to listen to the TV. 'Yes,' he gasped. 'Do that but faster.'_

_'Mmm, yes,' John growled. He thrust faster, scissoring his fingers wider, listening to the delicious moans coming from his Sherlock and the one on the telly._

_'Harder,' he demanded. 'Go deeper inside me.' He pushed backwards on John._

_'Gonna have to remove my fingers to do that,' John groaned. He glanced over to the TV. Their younger selves were still fucking, only Sherlock was the one giving the pounding now._

_'Do it.' Sherlock looked over to the TV and whimpered. 'Oh god. Just–' The sentence was lost on the tip of his tongue. John swiftly removed his fingers and tangled them in Sherlock's hair. He gave him an open-mouthed kiss as he began to pound into him ruthlessly. Sherlock closed his eyes as John began to make relentless love to him. However, that turned out to be a grave mistake. His father was waiting for him behind his eyelids. He opened up his eyes with a startled cry. His scars burned on his back and he threw his arms over John's neck as he writhed in a mixture of pain and pleasure._

_'Shh, love. Shh,' John said softly. He placed soft kisses along Sherlock's throat and jaw, his fingers kneaded softly at the base of his scalp, trying to relax him before he started moving again. 'It's ok. It's ok. I'm here. I'm here.'_

_Sherlock whimpered, nodding against John. He rocked in time with John's thrusts at a satisfying rate. John scraped his teeth over Sherlock's collarbone, sucked on his Adam's apple gently, and licked, bit, and sucked nearly every inch of his throat. He thrust a little harder, listening to the moans and groans coming from the TV while focusing on his own Sherlock's needs. His hands moved to Sherlock's lower back, pushing him up slightly so he could reach a different angle. Now he was managing to stimulate his husband's prostate, which he seemed to really need._

_Everything was heated. Their bodies fit perfectly together, like two pieces of a jigsaw. They moved their bodies against each other with perfect precision and care._

_Sherlock needed a distraction from the scars, from his father, from life._

_John made the perfect distraction._

_When his husband finally found his pleasure spot Sherlock threw his head back and began mumbling things in Gallifreyan under his breath. John looked down at Sherlock, confusion etched on his face. His hips never faltered in their pace, even going so much as to go faster and harder._

_'Sherlock? Are you... are you speaking Gallifreyan?' he asked incredulously._

_Sherlock laughed, a little out of breath. 'Yes. I was speaking the language of the Timelords.'_

_'Mmm, say something again,' John purred. 'Say something sexy. Talk dirty to me in the language of the Timelords.'_

_'Hei'Mase Senda!' Sherlock growled down John's ear, gripping his shoulders firmly. 'Krva'Styg!'_

_'God. I have no idea what you're saying,' John moaned, his hips stuttering at the guttural, beautiful sounds coming from Sherlock's lips. 'But I love it!'_

_'Kantan'Dialaen!' Sherlock roared as he rocked back on John's member, a wide grin wriggling across his face._

_'Hnng, yes!' John cried, thrusting faster. 'Yes! Oh fuck!' Suddenly he was so close to a release it hurt. He loved Sherlock's words, wanted them to push him over the edge, never wanted them to stop._

_Sherlock was like an excitable pup as he searched for more words in Gallifreyan that he could say to turn John to an even more whimpering mess than he already was._

_'Maerdy!' He knew that that word was so appropriate for this perfect moment between he and John that he was lost within._

_'More,' John moaned, thrusting deep. 'Close. More, please.'_

_Sherlock caressed the base of John's neck with his lips. 'Kuila,' he whispered gently into his ear, watching as the tiny word unraveled his husband completely._

_John made a sort of choked sound in his throat, the word seeming to travel through him and straight to his groin. He buried himself deep in Sherlock and let out a strangled cry as he came, burying his face in Sherlock's shoulder as his hips stuttered and the erotic noises from the TV spurred him on._

_Sherlock cried out as John came deep within him and he found his own blissful albeit long and ever so slightly painful release. He placed his chin on John's head and began muttering in Gallifreyan, 'Nemiar,' over and over._

_'Mmm, I think I know what that one means,' John hummed. 'Nemiar you too. And you're very welcome.'_

_Sherlock hummed and pressed his lips to John's. 'Thank you,' he repeated, this time in English._

_John smiled and pressed his lips to Sherlock's again. He kissed him slowly, savouring his taste, dipping his tongue between their parted lips and licking the outline of Sherlock's Cupid's bow._

_Sherlock ran his fingers through John's hair. 'You're beautiful,' he said in a hushed voice against his lover's lips. 'And bloody amazing.'_

_'You're pretty amazing yourself,' John smiled as he placed kisses along Sherlock's jaw. 'And you're downright gorgeous.'_

_'This downright gorgeous man is downright hungry.' Sherlock pulled his puppy eyes for the second time that day._

_'And does my puppy-eyed husband want me to make him some food?' John purred._

_Sherlock ran his hands down John's chest. 'If that isn't too much to ask, dear. I'd love you forever and ever if you did.' His puppy dog eyes grew and his lower lip quivered playfully._

_'I can't deny my puppy his food,' John smiled. He brought his lips to Sherlock's for a chaste kiss before pulling out and standing up._

_'Do you want to get dressed and join me in the kitchen? Or shall we simply remain nude?' John smirked._

_Sherlock tried to sit up, testing how far his back would allow him to move. He barely moved an inch before one of his deeper scars protested and the muscles beneath it clenched painfully together. He feel back onto the sofa with a grunt._

_'This puppy isn't going anywhere anytime soon.'_

_'I could carry my puppy to the kitchen,' John suggested. 'Would my puppy like that?'_

_Sherlock nodded eagerly. 'Your little puppy likes that idea a lot.'_

_John smiled and sat Sherlock up gingerly. He bent down to place a kiss to Sherlock's forehead, sliding his hands down and under his bum._

_'Hold onto me, Puppy,' he smirked. He slowly stood up, lifting Sherlock up off the couch. The taller man's lanky legs wrapped around his waist, his arms flying to wrap around his shoulders._

_'Weren't expecting that now, were you Puppy?' John smiled broadly._

_'No, your puppy certainly wasn't expecting that,' Sherlock breathed out in shock. 'But it wasn't an unpleasant surprise.'_

_'I thought it'd be easier on your back,' John explained. He adjusted his hold slightly, Sherlock bouncing in his arms. 'Now, shall I make my puppy some food?'_

_'That was very thoughtful of you,' Sherlock's voice rumbled. 'Now make your puppy some food.'_

_'My, my. Puppy is very demanding,' John smirked. He carried Sherlock into the kitchen, setting him on one of the stools at the island. 'What does my puppy want to eat?'_

_'Food,' Sherlock replied, his sarcasm thick. 'And a hell of a lot of it.'_

_'How about breakfast for dinner?' John asked, kneading Sherlock's thighs absently. 'Eggs, bacon, toast, whatever. Sound good?'_

_Sherlock's stomach growled at the prospect of food. 'Everything on the menu. I'm starving.'_

_John plucked a banana out of the fruit basket and passed it to Sherlock. 'Start with this. Good source 'o potassium and it should ease the grumbling in your stomach.'_

_'I like bananas. Bananas are good!' Sherlock exclaimed, peeling the yellow fruit before sucking it into his mouth and savoring the taste._

_'Bananas are very good,' John smiled. He moved to the stove, placed a pan on a burner and turned it on. He moved to the fridge and got out eggs, bacon, and the bread._

_'How do you want your eggs, 'Lock?' he asked, turning to face his husband._

_'Hot,' Sherlock replied through a mouthful of banana. 'Just like you.'_

_John blushed. 'You know what I mean,' he said. 'Scrambled, sunny side up, whatever. This is your breakfast, I'm making it specifically to your orders. So, I'll ask you again. How do you want your eggs, sir?'_

_'Scrambled, because that's what your brain is right now as you watch me eat.' Sherlock waggled his eyebrows._

_'Watching you deep throat a banana definitely has my mind scrambled,' John admitted, not ashamed in the least. He cracked three eggs into a bowl and started whisking them with a fork, breaking the yolks and mixing them all together. He set some bacon strips on the pan, humming as they sizzled and cooked._

_Sherlock chuckled as he swallowed the last of his banana. 'I love the view, dear.'_

_'It's a lot better up close,' John smirked, wiggling his arse teasingly._

_Sherlock licked his lips and groaned. 'Teasing little bastard, aren't you?'_

_'It's one of the many reasons why you love me,' John grinned, licking his lips and winking at his husband._

_'Is it now?' Sherlock asked in clear amusement._

_'From my observations, yes, yes it is,' John grinned. 'You've taught me a thing or two about observing and not just seeing. Well, I've observed that you like my teasing. It frustrates you, makes you feel what's happening to your body, it helps you leave your mind and helps you live in the moment.'_

_Sherlock hummed his approval. 'It certainly does make me feel. And how can I not live in the moment? I'm with you. That's all that matters.'_

_John smiled and flipped the bacon, listening to it sizzle and pop. 'Yes. When I'm with you, all I can do is be in the moment. Nothing else exists when we're together.'_

_'Nothing else exists in my world when you are with me,' Sherlock stated honestly. 'You are my world.'_

_John blushed and puffed his chest forward. Sherlock had never gone so far to say that before, although John had known it for years._

_'I remember when I was simply your conscience,' John smiled fondly. 'Then it grew to moral compass, the. Friend, then heart, and now I'm your world. You're quite the romantic.'_

_Sherlock smiled genuinely and found himself blushing too. 'Perhaps all it took was the right person for me to explore that aspect of myself.'_

_'And I was the right person,' John stated simply. 'I'm honoured.'_

_'It's always been you, John, always,' Sherlock whispered, hanging his head shyly._

_John blushed, his heart hammering in his chest. He turned to Sherlock and saw he was hiding behind his hair. He sighed and walked over to him, the bacon would be fine for a few minutes._

_'Hey,' he said gently. He tilted Sherlock's chin up so they could see eye to eye. 'There's nothing wrong with me being the only one. Absolutely nothing. You were my first as well, only you my first male experience and not my first everything. And let me tell you this: you are a far better lover than any of the women I have ever bedded.'_

_Sherlock smirked smugly, his shy awkwardness washing away. 'Of course I am! I'd be offended if I wasn't.' He grabbed John and pulled him closer, kissing him as rapidly and harshly as he could._

_John grabbed Sherlock's curls and tangled his fingers in them, pulling him closer while they snogged. His tongue delved into Sherlock's mouth, tasting the roof of his mouth, that little fold of skin underneath his tongue, even running it under his upper lip and against his teeth._

_Sherlock let out a harsh pant when he broke away from the kiss, leaning his head against John. 'I'm glad that you were my one and only, John.'_

_John hummed in agreement. 'I'm glad you let me get close enough to become that,' he murmured softly._

_'I'm glad too, because look at our lives now. They may not be perfect but we still have each other,' Sherlock smiled. 'Whereas before we weren't really living, were we? We were drifting, alone, and living for the sake of it. At least I know I was.'_

_'We were both so alone,' John mumbled. A hand moved to tangle in Sherlock's curls, comforting him. 'I was an empty shell of the man I used to be, carrying on for the sake of being a war hero. But I was so empty inside. Until I met you. You made me whole again, Sherlock. And I owe you so much.'_

_'And I was alone also. I was a freak, I was friendless, my heart was made of stone, I was reckless, and most of all I was in constant pain. At least now my emotional pain is more easily managed. You seem to be able to calm me.' Sherlock leant into John's touch and hummed._

_'You became my friend, made me feel a little more normal, melted my heart, and stopped me from being reckless. You made me a better man.'_

_'God, Sherlock,' John breathed. 'When you speak you say the most beautiful things. How am I supposed to compete with that when your words sound like poetry?' He tilted Sherlock's head up so he could gaze into his eyes again._

_'All I can say to that is you are the best man, the most human... human being I've ever known, and I promise to love you until the end of my days and beyond.'_

_'If I am a good man, if my words are beautiful, if I am human, it is because of you.' Sherlock placed a hand on John's cheek. 'And I will love you for as long as my mind is intact.'_

_John's happy mood instantly fell, his smile turning into a frown._

_'I'd rather you not say it like that,' he said in a small voice. 'Because, for all we know, your memories could be gone by tomorrow. And that doesn't give us a lot of time to be in love.'_

_'Oh, I wouldn't worry about my memory loss for a while, John. I think I've got a way of keeping it under control,' Sherlock smirked before realising what he had just said. He stumbled for a way to cover his tracks._

_'Is that the bacon burning?' he questioned quickly._

_'What? What are you–' He sniffed the air. Shit. The bacon was burning. He rushed to the stove and grabbed the pan's handle, lifting it off the hot burner and setting it on a cool one. Once the crisis was averted he ran a hand down his face, taking deep breaths. He grabbed a plate and a paper towel, setting the towel on the plate before putting the bacon on it._

_'Well, at least it's still edible,' he laughed slightly. 'Hope you like your bacon extra crispy. Oh, and don't think I forgot about that "keeping it under control" bit. I still want to talk about that.' He put more bacon on the pan and returned it to the hot burner, listening to the calming sizzle and pop._

_'I just meant that I feel like I've got more control as of late,' Sherlock lied. He had no control over his situation. Or at least he'd had no control but now that he had formed a plan to not sleep by keeping up his caffeine supply he had a little control so perhaps it wasn't such a lie._

_'Oh? And how have you been doing that?' John asked, pressing a piece of bacon down so it cooked thoroughly._

_'Maybe my mind is becoming more settled in my old age,' Sherlock joked lightly._

_John frowned slightly, continuing to poke at the bacon._

_'Turn that frown upside down,' Sherlock smiled softly. 'It doesn't suit you.'_

_John's lip twitched upward slightly, not really having it in him to smile fully._

_'I've upset you,' Sherlock stated, frowning himself now._

_'No,' John frowned, flipping the bacon over. 'I've just depressed myself. Thinking about you losing your memories and your mind and not being able to remember me–' His voice cracked and a sob escaped his throat._

_'Hey now, stop those tears in their tracks. It won't happen for a long time to come.' Sherlock was even more determined to stay awake now. He had to stop his memory loss for not just his son but for John, and Felicity, and everyone else who was important to him._

_John nodded and clenched his eyes shut, trying to stop his tears. 'Want... Want you,' he choked out. 'Hold me.'_

_Sherlock nodded. 'Of course, dear.' He got to his feet and began making his way over to John. He ignored the way his back muscles protested, he ignored the way his scars itched and burned and threatened to bleed underneath the bandages his husband had wrapped around him earlier. He made his way to John and tugged him into a tight hug._

_'Everything is fine right now. We're having breakfast. We've just made love. It might be a good idea to hide that DVD in case the children find it. We can use it at another time if you like. Live in the now, John. Not the what could be.'_

_John wrapped his arms around Sherlock's shoulders, grasping him tight. He nodded, breathing in Sherlock's scent along with the smell of bacon. It was an interesting combination, and it made him laugh._

_'Care to share the joke?' Sherlock asked. 'Not that I don't prefer that adorable laugh of yours over tears.'_

_'Just... It smells like you and bacon. And I like it,' John smiled._

_Sherlock sniffed deeply. 'Funny, it smells a lot more like your scent and bacon.'_

_'Sex and bacon,' John laughed._

_Sherlock licked his lips. 'My two favourite things.'_

_'Sex with you is my favourite thing,' John purred._

_'Oh, I bet it is,' Sherlock purred back. 'You can't get enough of me.'_

_'When I'm with you I'm insatiable,' John growled against Sherlock's throat._

_Sherlock chuckled. 'It would seem that way, yes.'_

_'I should get back to the bacon before it burns,' John said softly. 'Here.' He grabbed a piece from the plate and held it up to Sherlock's lips. 'It will probably be really crispy, so let me know what you think.'_

_Sherlock bit into the bacon with an audible crunch. Despite the fact that it was burnt it tasted sensational on his tongue. He hummed._

_'Yum!' he exclaimed like the overgrown child he was._

_'Really?' John asked. He popped the remaining piece into his mouth, chewing it with quite the audible crunch. 'Hmm. Despite being burnt, that actually isn't that bad.'_

_'More, more, more,' Sherlock chorused, opening his mouth wide and looking at John with expectant eyes._

_'Oh, so are you a baby bird now?' John joked. 'Because I don't think that's a good idea. You do know how birds feed their babies, right?'_

_Sherlock shrugged. 'Why would I want to know something as mundane and unimportant as that?'_

_'I'm not sure you want to know,' John said. 'Here.' He gave Sherlock the plate of bacon. 'Go sit. I'll put the fresh bacon on there soon. But leave me some, ok? And I'll get started on the eggs too.'_

_Sherlock took the bacon gratefully from John. 'Thank you,' he nodded curtly before making his slow and painful journey back to where he'd been sitting previously._

_'You are quite welcome, love.' John turned back to the last few pieces of bacon, moving them around the pan, listening to them sizzle._

_Sherlock gobbled his bacon greedily, nearly forgetting to leave John some but not quite. When he was finished he just stared at John, his John, his world._

_John deemed the bacon cooked enough. He turned the burner down so he could scramble Sherlock's eggs without burning those too. He grabbed the pan's handle and a set of tongs, turning to Sherlock so he could out the bacon on his plate. Upon seeing him staring he couldn't help but smile, and he laughed loudly when he saw he had saved him one lonely little piece of bacon._

_'Thanks, love,' he smiled brightly. He grabbed the one piece and popped it into his mouth, chewing it loudly. He put the fresh bacon on Sherlock's plate._

_'Don't gobble those down as fast as the last. They're fresh and hot and will burn your tongue. And I don't want your tongue to be in pain when I bite it later,' he winked._

_'Biting? Why you violent man,' Sherlock smiled, chewing on his lip. He stabbed his fork in the new bacon and began nibbling at it cautiously._

_John growled and clicked his teeth together, grinning at Sherlock. He went back to the stove and poured the eggs into the pan. He set the pan back on the burner and began pushing the eggs around with a spatula._

_With John's back turned Sherlock grinned and began to wolf down his bacon, filling his stomach nicely. It felt good to be able to eat, to have food sliding down his throat and into his belly._

_The eggs were cooking nicely. John risked leaving them to pop some bread in the toaster, making sure to set it to a low temperature. With Sherlock in the kitchen while he cooked, it could be dangerous. Sherlock was quite the distraction._

_Sherlock swallowed the last of the bacon with a guilty gulp. He hadn't even left John one measly piece that time. He shook his head. Where had this damn hunger come from? And why hadn't he eaten in so long?_

_The toast popped up and John spread some jam on the pieces. He offered Sherlock one and ate the other one himself. When he noticed the empty plate of bacon he laughed._

_'Hungry, were you?'_

_'Incredibly so,' Sherlock replied quickly before crunching down on his toast._

_'Hey, slow down,' John said. 'Don't eat so fast or you might get sick again.'_

_'But I'm hungry,' Sherlock complained. 'And my stomach needs it. It's been empty for god knows how long!'_

_'I realise that, love, but please slow down. At least try.'_

_Sherlock slowed down but glared at John grumpily. 'How come I didn't have food in my stomach anyway?'_

_'Oh, so it's my fault you haven't been eating?' John asked._

_Sherlock shrugged. 'You know how I am. My memory and my old habits. I just thought you'd at least ensure that I sat down and ate something.'_

_'You haven't exactly been around for me to ensure you're eating,' John said sadly. 'You've been going out to pubs every night and I can only hope that you're coherent enough to remember to eat.'_

_'Oh,' Sherlock mumbled, frowning. 'In which case, who knows how long it's been since I've had food or how I haven't collapsed because of the lack of it in my system.'_

_'Yeah,' John sighed. 'I'm just glad you're eating now. Better late than never. Here.' He passed Sherlock a glass of orange juice. 'Drink that first and then I'll make you that coffee, ok?'_

_Sherlock perked up at the sound of the coffee John was going to make him. He took the glass and lifted it to his lips, drinking it slowly as he could manage._

_'Good job,' John smiled. 'Thanks for drinking it slowly.' He set up the coffee maker and turned it on, turning back to cook the eggs. Sherlock found his anticipation for the coffee frankly a little startling. He'd only started drinking coffee today and that had been two cups. Two cups that had left his system rapidly. Maybe it was the need and want to stay awake or maybe he really was replacing one addiction for another._

_The eggs were cooked, the coffee was brewed. John poured himself a cup and gave Sherlock the plate of eggs and his own cup of coffee. He turned off the stove burner and leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee and watching Sherlock eat, making sure he wasn't eating too fast. Sherlock instantly turned his attention to the coffee, eating only a few of his eggs before leaving them to allow his stomach a little break. He picked up his cup and took a large sniff of the steaming fumes coming off of it. He sipped it gently, savoring the taste, and allowing it to work its magic on him. John hummed and swallowed a nice gulp of his coffee. It warmed him to the core, the taste exotic on his tongue._

_'Finish your eggs,' he said gently. 'And if you eat everything I'll reward you after it has had time to settle and digest.'_

_Sherlock was quick to drink his coffee so he could return to his eggs. 'I look forward to it.' He slammed his cup onto the table and picked up his fork, twirling the scrambled eggs before popping them into his mouth. John hummed and drank more of his coffee. He probably didn't need it so late at night, but he was going to need the energy soon anyway._

_Sherlock finished his eggs with a satisfied sigh. 'That tasted as good as the man who made it does.'_

_John blushed and swallowed the rest of his coffee._

_'So, shall we convene to the sitting room and watch some Doctor Who while you digest your food?'_

_'I'd like that.' Sherlock's face lit up. 'What Doctor? What episode? You decide.'_

_'Nine, the first one with Rose as the official companion. Where they travel to see the end of the world,' John smiled fondly. 'Do you want me to carry you again?' He waggled his eyebrows._

_'Don't think I could move if I tried.' Sherlock patted his belly in satisfaction, smiling at John._

_'At least it's because of a full stomach and not injury this time,' John stated. He moved to stand between Sherlock's legs, his hands groping his ample bum._

_'Hold on tight, love,' he smirked._

_Sherlock grunted and held onto John tightly. 'Watch those hands of yours or I will find a spectacularly inventive way to punish you.'_

_'Then punish me,' John purred down Sherlock's ear, groping him tighter. 'You know I'll enjoy it.' He lifted Sherlock off the stool and carried him to the sitting room, placing him down carefully onto the sofa. He laid over him, hands still groping his arse, and kissed him passionately._

_'Maybe I'll punish you by not punishing you,' Sherlock whispered against John's lips, wiggling beneath him._

_'Oh?' John smirked, wiggling against Sherlock in return. 'I rather like the sound of that.' He brought his lips to Sherlock's again, licking his bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth._

_Sherlock's lips worked methodically against John's. 'I'm glad, because this is all you'll get from me,' he teased before mashing his lips with his husband's once more._

_'Mmm, this is fine for now,' John hummed. His hands slid up from Sherlock's arse to his hair, tangling his fingers in his curls. 'Doctor Who and a nice, long snog. Mmm. Perfect.'_

_'And maybe a little rutting?' Sherlock mused as he began rocking upwards against John._

_'Y-es,' John stuttered. 'Rutting is excellent.' He moved his hips against Sherlock's, their cocks hardening as they moved together. John managed to switch the TV channel and start playing the Doctor Who episode, quickly turning his attention back to Sherlock's lips._

_Sherlock moaned and hummed, rutting harder. 'I've noticed something, John. A pattern to our activities,' he panted._

_'Oh?' John moaned, rutting faster. 'Is this a good or a bad pattern?'_

_'Both,' Sherlock said breathily. 'I'll tell you later – gah! Maybe when I am more coherent.'_

_'Yes, later,' John moaned, moving faster. He moved a hand from Sherlock's curls and grasped their pricks and squeezed._

_Sherlock whimpered and placed a hand over John's, helping him squeeze their members tightly._

_'Speak Gallifreyan again, love,' John gasped, threading his fingers with Sherlock's and moving their hands along their pricks. 'Please.'_

_And so Sherlock began to chant Gallifreyan words. Some words were big and complicated whereas some were small and soft and simple._

_'Beautiful, gorgeous,' John moaned, moving their hands faster. 'Just like you. Fuck, yes!'_

_Sherlock closed his eyes but again his father was there waiting for him. 'Oh god!' he cried out in both emotional turmoil and the fact that he was impossibly close._

_'God! Yes! Fuck!' John cried, burying his face in the crook of Sherlock's neck as he came sharply._

_Sherlock whimpered as he felt his prick throb in John's hand. He wanted a release and he was close, but his body was too tense to receive one._

_'Come on, love,' John crooned. 'Come on. I've got you. It's alright. Come on.' John released his prick and focused solely on Sherlock's, keeping their fingers twined._

_'You're beautiful, gorgeous, and sexy as hell. I can feel how close you are, can feel it in the pulse of your prick, and here.' He snaked his free hand down and gently tugged on Sherlock's balls, letting them snap back with a slap. 'So, are you going to cum for me, my beautiful, gorgeous, sexy as hell husband?'_

_Sherlock thrust desperately up into John's hand, breathing heavily laboured. 'Oh–' He froze as he came, eyes widening a little. 'Oh, John.' It wasn't a yell, it was a hushed whisper._

_'Gorgeous,' John breathed, his hand still squeezing Sherlock slightly. He brought his lips to Sherlock's, kissing him heatedly and comfortingly. Sherlock let John take control of the kiss. He was too focused on how irritated his scars had become. He groaned and shifted awkwardly beneath his husband. John hummed softly, breaking the kiss and releasing Sherlock's prick._

_'What's going on, love?' he asked softly. 'Is it your scars?'_

_Sherlock nodded and winced. 'I think one is beginning to bleed again.'_

_'We'll get you cleaned up and then we can relax for a bit, alright?' John said softly. He sat up slowly, not wanting to upset either of their backs, and stood up. He held a hand out for Sherlock, giving him time to situate himself._

_Sherlock shifted into a sitting position with a lot of difficulty and grabbed John's hand tightly. 'Actually, I was wondering if you wouldn't mind getting my violin? I just want some time alone to play her.'_

_John raised an eyebrow. 'You don't want to tend to your back? Are you sure? Because it's no problem.' He turned to grab the violin anyway, knowing what Sherlock's answer would be. He paused once he grabbed it, slowly turning back to his husband._

_'Wait. What were you going to say earlier about the pattern of our activities? About how it was both good and bad? I'd like to know before you start playing and get lost in the music.'_

_'I'll be fine for now,' Sherlock reassured John. The curly haired man's face then creased as he frowned._

_'I was just going to say that we turn to sex when emotions are running high, and bad situations have occurred. It's basically our cure for everything. A very welcome cure at that.'_

_'We tend to use sex as a coping mechanism, yes,' John agreed. 'And to comfort one another too. Is that necessarily such a bad thing?' He handed Sherlock his violin, watching as he tuned the strings._

_'Oh no. It isn't a bad thing at all.' Sherlock smiled giddily at John before focusing on his violin._

_'Oh, my poor baby,' he cooed. 'Daddy hasn't played you in awhile. I'm sorry.'_

_John cracked a smile. 'I can honestly say that I've missed listening to you play. And I think she's missed being played as well.'_

_Sherlock laughed. 'I can tell that's it's been a long time, yes.'_

_'What are you going to play?' John asked. 'Is it alright if I stay and listen? Or do you want to be alone with her?'_

_Sherlock cradled his violin. 'Would it be ok to leave us alone?' he asked. 'I promise to play to you another time. What I'm going to play is a little... personal.'_

_'Of course, love. Work out your thoughts.' John placed a small kiss to Sherlock's forehead before placing a soft kiss to his lips. 'I'm going to go to bed. It's nearly midnight and I'm beat. And please try not to stay up too late, ok?'_

_Sherlock lips tugged upwards, almost taking on a life of their own, laughing at some joke. Sherlock wouldn't sleep tonight. Sherlock wasn't going to sleep for a very long time._

_'Of course. I might fall asleep here though. If I'm not in bed in the night then don't worry yourself.' He paused. 'Would you mind retrieving me some pyjamas? I would hate someone to walk in on me stark naked whilst playing the violin.'_

_'Alright, love. But if you need anything, anything at all, do not hesitate to call.' John placed a soft kiss to Sherlock's forehead. 'I'll get some pyjamas for you, then I'm going to bed.'_

_Sherlock shook his head fondly. 'I'll be fine, John. What's the worst that could happen?'_

_'Well, you could vomit all over the couch, yourself, and your violin,' John answered._

_Sherlock wrinkled up his nose in disgust. 'Yes, I suppose that could happen.'_

_'So, like I said, if anything should happen, or even if you just don't feel well, call me and I'll take care of you. Even if you just want to cuddle. But, maybe in that case you could come up to bed? It's better for cuddling... among other things,' John winked._

_'A cuddle... and other things. Sounds appetising.' Sherlock licked his lips hungrily._

_'We're insatiable, aren't we?' John smiled. He quickly sashayed off to grab a pair of pyjamas and Sherlock's blue dressing gown. There were so many memories attached to that gown. He returned to Sherlock and offered him the clothes._

_Sherlock took the clothes, running his finger and thumb along the slightly worn down material of the blue dressing gown. 'Time just flies by, doesn't it?' he asked softly._

_'Yes, but we've stood the test of time and we won,' John said softly. He gently carded his fingers through Sherlock's curls, his hand stopping to cup his cheek._

_'I love you,' he whispered. 'So much.'_

_'I know,' Sherlock said, giggling like a schoolgirl despite himself. 'And I love you just as equally in return.'_

_'Good,' John smiled. He brought their lips together in a final kiss, lingering slightly when he pulled away. 'If you need anything, ok? Mundane or not, I don't care.'_

_'Actually, I could use your help to get into these clothes.' Sherlock looked up at John with softened eyes. 'My back is going to be a bitch, I just know it.'_

_'Alright,' John nodded. 'Shirt or trousers first?'_

_'Trousers, since my back will be the trickiest and most painful part for me.' Sherlock lifted his legs so they waggled aimlessly in the air._

_John couldn't help but laugh at the ridiculous sight. He grabbed the trousers and stuck Sherlock's legs in the appropriate holes, easing them up until Sherlock had to put his feet on the floor to lift his bum so the trousers would sit on his hips. John grabbed the shirt, looking at Sherlock and sighing._

_'Here comes the tough part. Try to raise your arms and we'll see how this is gonna go.'_

_Sherlock lifted his arms, an easy enough task. However, when John moved to slide over the t-shirt he couldn't help the startled yelp that escaped his lips as he was overcome by a flash of hot pain. He shuddered as he felt one of his scars bulge and a thick, warm liquid spread down his back._

_'Shit, shit, shit!' John swore, abandoning the shirt on the floor. 'Let's clean that up first, get some fresh bandages on it, ok? Please?'_

_'I have to agree that that would be the best option, yes.' Sherlock shifted and winced. 'Told you my back would be a bitch.'_

_John's lip twitched upwards in reminiscence of a smile. He helped Sherlock up and they hobbled toward the bathroom. He sat Sherlock on the edge of the tub, running off to get the medical kit before returning._

_'I'm going to have to cut your old bandages off,' John said. 'It might upset your scars further and it might be painful.'_

_'Just get it over and done with,' Sherlock said, bracing himself for more pain than he was already in. John gently snipped the edges of Sherlock's bandages, trying not to hurt him anymore than he already was. He grabbed a flannel and rolled it up, offering it to Sherlock._

_'Bite down on this,' he instructed. 'And prepare yourself. I'm going to remove your bandages now.'_

_Sherlock bit down on the offered flannel, breathing heavily through his nose. His whole body tensed but he managed to stay calm enough for John to start taking his bandages off. His eyes watered as more and more of his scars became agitated and threatened to bleed. John peeled the soiled bandages off slowly, Sherlock's back becoming red and agitated as his scars threatened to crack and bleed. John frowned and swallowed when he saw the scar that had broken open. It was bleeding profusely, cracked open along its whole length._

_The remaining bandages came off easily and John tossed them in the bin. 'Keep biting that,' he said. 'I need to wash your back now and I may upset more scars. I'm sorry, love.' He turned the tap on and soaked another flannel in warm water. He squeezed the excess water out and held it to the open scar, wincing at Sherlock's pained reaction. Sherlock screamed against the flannel, his teeth sinking into the white, fluffy material deeper and deeper. Tears leaked from his eyes as John dabbed at his scars, upsetting them and spilling more blood. His body jerked and writhed as he tried to escape the pain but it was useless, the pain wouldn't leave him._

_John clenched his jaw shut, holding back the streaming apology threatening to spill forth. He dipped the flannel in the water, slowly turning it red as he cleaned Sherlock's back. He dipped the flannel in the bloody water and squeezed it over Sherlock's back, the water dripping down and rinsing his back. He patted it dry as gently as he could manage, dabbing the anti-infection cream over his back before wrapping him up again._

_'I'm going to give you some pain pills, ok?' He said gently, removing the flannel from Sherlock's mouth. 'They might make you a little drowsy but you should still be able to stay awake to play your violin.'_

_Sherlock pursed his lips, a protest at the ready, but it died on his lips. His back was making it almost impossible to think and he wanted nothing more for his pain to stop. He nodded, licking his now incredibly dry lips and attempting to remove the fluff left on his tongue from the flannel. He shivered and sighed, hoping that John was right and that the pills would make him nothing more than a little drowsy. John rummaged around in the medicine cabinet until he found the pills. He pulled out one and offered it to Sherlock along with a cup of water. Sherlock plucked the pill from between John's fingers and popped it on the tip of his tongue. He then proceeded to take a few sips of the water and managed to swallow the tablet. John sighed and sat on the toilet, rubbing at his temples._

_'I'm so sorry, love' he finally apologised. 'If I hurt you too much, I'm sorry.'_

_'It's not your fault.' Sherlock gave John a 'stop blaming yourself right now or I swear in the name of science I will make you myself' look. 'My scars are just quite... agitated.'_

_'I know it's not my fault, but I tried to be as gentle as possible and I still caused you to bleed.' John ran his hands over his face and sighed. 'I was never like this at the clinic. But, then again, everything is different with you.'_

_'How is it different?' Sherlock quizzed, brow furrowing. 'I am still your patient and you are still my doctor, and your hands are very capable... at many things.'_

_John blushed at Sherlock's comment. 'It's different because I know you personally,' John stated. 'We're married, we know each other inside and out, and when you're in pain I see it as my fault because I'm your own personal, live-in doctor and I should be able to prevent your pain.'_

_'You're my own personal idiot, that's what you are,' Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes. 'I am only human. I will of course feel pain during my life. Stop blaming yourself this instant!'_

_'You could kiss me and make it better,' John said softly._

_'Come here then you daft sod.' Sherlock beckoned his husband over._

_John moved from the toilet to stand over his husband, bending over to bring their lips together in a soft kiss. Sherlock lowered his husband onto his lap with a huff and kissed him tenderly. John hummed and sighed, breaking their kiss and resting his forehead on Sherlock's._

_'I'm sorry I'm such an idiot,' he smirked._

_'It's quite alright, John. You are my idiot after all.' Sherlock ran his thumb over his husband's cheek and sighed. 'Now can you do me the kind honour of putting me back where I was so that I can begin to give my violin some tender care and much needed attention?'_

_'Of course,' John smiled. 'And, if it's alright with you, I think we'll leave your shirt off for now. Don't want to risk upsetting your scars again so soon.' He slid off Sherlock's lap and stood, helping Sherlock get to his own feet._

_'Yes,' Sherlock shuddered as John held onto him. 'We would not want a repeat of what has just happened.'_

_'Definitely not,' John agreed. He shuffled back to the sitting room, sitting Sherlock on the sofa and handing him his violin back. The poor girl had been sitting on the floor._

_'It's alright, Daddy's going to make everything better,' Sherlock whispered, holding his violin across his chest and rocking her like she was the most fragile and precious thing in the world._

_John simply laughed. 'Now, like I said before, don't hesitate to wake me if you need anything.' He placed a soft kiss to Sherlock's forehead. 'I love you. Now, enjoy your time with your violin.'_

_'We shall enjoy our alone time indeed. Now go to bed John, now.' Sherlock batted John away playfully._

_John mock pouted and moved away. 'Love you.'_

_Sherlock smiled, his eyes soft. 'I love you too. Now go.'_

_John smiled softly and disappeared up the stairs. He pulled on a pair of pants before he crawled into bed, his eyes closing as he was enveloped in the warm sheets and his head was cradled by his pillow. He sighed in content, rolling over onto his stomach and drifting off to sleep._

_Sherlock let out a breath that he hadn't known he'd been holding._

_He brought his bow to the strings of his violin and began to play._

_His music was long and waning, a painful sound that filled the night air, filling the entire house. It was his soul bleeding out. It was his sadness, his confusion, his anger, his hatred, and it was physically hurting him. Everything hurt. Everything was wrong._

_John slept soundly, the tortured sounds of Sherlock's violin playing entering his dreams and twisting them. His brow creased in his sleep but he couldn't be bothered to wake. If Sherlock needed him he would, but for the moment he was content to sleep his troubles away._

* * *

The next chapter is the last of the coma dream. Sherlock will be waking up soon (yes, he's going to be ok, relatively speaking). And for those of your who are wondering what the Gallifreyan means, here's the translation. I am afraid I've forgotten where InvisibleBlade got this, so with the next update I'll post it there. See you all next week!

TSA + IB

Gallifreyan translations:

Hei'Mase Senda! = You are an animal.  
Krva'Styg! = Fear me  
Kantan'Dialaen = I am a king!  
Maerdy = lost in time  
Kuila = love  
Nemiar = thank you


	25. Coping Or Not

Hi all. Sorry for posting so late. I've been pretty busy today. I made cookies! XD

For those interested in the Gallifreyan used last chapter, the source can be found in the Syfy channel's forums, titled 'Learn Gallifreyan (with Time Lady Taela!)

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Beary

Me: Felicity, Ben, John

_Trigger Warnings for this chapter: blood, lots of blood, unintentional spousal abuse, suicide at the end of the chapter_

_Warnings for this chapter: mental issues, drug withdrawals, caffeine abuse, sleep deprivation, dramatic arguments  
_

Just a heads up, the end of this chapter gets really dark and depressing, so be aware for possible triggers and such. And maybe keep a box of tissues close by.

* * *

Chapter 25 - Coping. Or Not.

_Sherlock played his music through the night, bow never faltering. The notes were still emitting from his violin when dawn broke. By this point his eyelids were beginning to droop and he was in desperate need of more caffeine. However, in the night his scars had started feeling particularly sore and the muscles beneath them clumped in great knots from where he'd been awkwardly sitting on the sofa. He was barely able keep his head up because of exhaustion, his shoulders slumped, and his fingers quaked. He would have to wait for John to make him a cup because there was no way he himself would be able to make it to the kitchen, let alone the kettle._

_Felicity drove up early. She had spent all night with her friends celebrating their graduation. She hadn't slept but she didn't feel tired. She supposed it was because she was still running off the graduation high combined with all the fun she and her friends had had. She opened the door quietly, holding her shoes in get hand so as not to make any noise. But it would seem she wasn't the only one awake. She could hear violin music coming from the sitting room._

_**Probably Ben not being able to sleep again,** she mused, shaking her head. She set her keys on the table and her shoes on the mat by the door. She padded her way to the sitting room and saw Sherlock sitting on the couch, much to her surprise._

_'Dad?' she said softly. 'Are you feeling alright? Oh my god! What's with the bandages? What happened?'_

_Sherlock looked up at Felicity a little shocked, his music faltering for the first time since he'd started. His lips hovered open to say something but he wasn't quite sure of what to say. In the end he simply shrugged before turning his attention back to his violin, gliding the bow across the strings violently. Felicity moved over to the couch, trying to determine what had happened to cause her dad to need bandages. She could tell anything from what she could currently see._

_'Dad?' she tried again. 'I know you tend to get lost in your music but I'm going to try anyway. What happened, are you feeling alright, and why are you still awake?'_

_'I am fine,' Sherlock replied robotically. 'I'm only here because my back is playing up, thus, my lack of sleeping. Now, I apologise, but would you please allow me to be alone? Unless you would do me the kind favour and grab me a coffee that is.'_

_'I can make you a coffee, sure,' Felicity agreed. She padded off to the kitchen, setting up the coffee maker and setting it to brew._

_**Dad's back is playing up?** she mused to herself. **I hope it wasn't because of yesterday. I know stress can cause it to act up sometimes.**_

_The coffeemaker beeped and she poured her dad a cup. She brought it to him slowly, not wanting to spill any on her clothes._

_'Here,' she said softly, placing the mug on the table beside the sofa. 'Since you want to be alone with her I'll just go to bed. Feel better.' She placed a gentle kiss to his cheek and stroked his hair, smiling gratefully that he was ok at the very least._

_Sherlock beamed at her. 'I've been alone with her all night,' he told her. 'You're welcome to join me for a little while.' He placed his violin to one side and struggled forwards to grab the coffee. Even that little movement set his back on fire and he winced as he sat back against the sofa. 'If not, thanks for my coffee and night.'_

_'I'll stay,' Felicity smiled, sitting next to him on the sofa. 'I was just going to go if you wanted to be alone.' She idly traced the outline of her dad's violin with her finger, the wood warm under her touch._

_'You've been playing her all night?' she asked softly. 'That usually means you had a lot of emotions to sort through. Hard day?'_

_Sherlock nodded, not looking his daughter in the eye. 'Exceptionally hard day, yes.'_

_'I'm sorry,' she said softly, still tracing along the violin's edge._

_'Whatever for?' he questioned, reaching out his hand to stop Felicity's in its tracks._

_Felicity turned her palm over and laced her fingers with her dad's._

_'Sorry about the things Ben said, sorry you had a tough time at the ceremony, sorry that your back played up.' She sighed. 'I know I shouldn't be apologising the things that aren't my fault and are beyond my control, but I am anyway. So, I'm sorry for that too.'_

_Sherlock squeezed Felicity's hand tightly. 'All of that doesn't matter now,' he said gingerly._

_'How?' she asked softly. 'How can all that not matter?'_

_Sherlock shrugged and ran his other hand through his curls. 'Because everything is going to be ok.'_

_'Oh?' Felicity perked up slightly. 'Did you and Ben talk? Is he getting off the drugs? Are you going to stop drinking?'_

_'Yes to all three,' Sherlock laughed joyfully. 'So yes, things shall be ok. You just watch this space.'_

_Felicity squealed in delight and wrapped her arms around her dad in a tight hug._

_'I'm so happy for you!' she said. 'You and Ben are cleaning up together and he doesn't hate you anymore! I'm so happy I could cry!'_

_Sherlock froze in Felicity's arms, suppressing a scream that was slowly building in his throat._

_'I thought you would be. I'm amazingly happy too,' he gasped out. He winced as he felt the same scar as yesterday split open from the pressure Felicity was putting on it. He shivered in repulsion as his bandages slowly turned from white to a dark shade of red._

_'You ok, Dad?' Felicity asked in a concerned tone. 'You've gone all breathy and rigid.' At the sight of the blood she let out a shrill shriek and covered her mouth with her hands._

_'Did I do that?' she asked, her eyes swimming with tears. 'Did I hurt you? Did I–' She drew in a harsh breath. 'Did I hurt my daddy?' Her lower lip trembled and a few stray tears fell down her cheeks._

_'No,' he panted. 'This isn't your fault.' He reached out a trembling hand to Felicity to wipe her tears away. 'I probably should have warned you not to touch my back.'_

_'I should have known not to touch it,' Felicity wailed. 'And I hugged you too tight and you bled and I'm so sorry.' More hot tears fell down her face. She removed her hands from Sherlock and covered her face like them, crying into them._

_'Felicity, please stop crying.' Sherlock sank back into the sofa with a hiss. 'You're no use to me if you're crying. Please, can you just get your dad? He'll fix me up.'_

_Felicity nodded, not trusting her voice. She dashed up to her fathers' bedroom, knocking on the door loudly. A sleepy John answered a moment later, still rubbing the sleep out of his eyes._

_'Felicity?' he yawned. 'What on earth are you doing up so early? When did you get back?' He finally took in her appearance and instantly sobered from his sleep. 'Felicity, what's wrong? Why have you been crying?'_

_'It's Daddy!' she wailed. 'I broke him!'_

_'What?' John asked, taken aback. 'How did that happen?'_

_'I hugged him too tight and his back spilt open and he's bleeding everywhere!' she cried, holding herself tightly. John wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace._

_'It's ok, Princess,' he said softly, stroking her hair. 'It's going to be alright. You didn't break Daddy. Daddy's back just has scars on it and they got irritated yesterday. They're still healing, it's not your fault.' Felicity nodded and clutched him tightly, still crying._

_'Let me grab some trousers and I'll be right out to help Daddy, ok?' John said in a small voice._

_'Ok,' Felicity whispered. She released John and he dashed back into the room to put a fresh pair of pyjama trousers and a t-shirt on. On one last thought he opened Sherlock's wardrobe and pulled Beary out. He grabbed his full medical kit this time though, planning on stitching up a few of the nastier scars. He handed Felicity her old bear and she squealed at the sight of him, hugging him close. She followed John downstairs and plopped down in the corner of the sitting room, burying her nose in Beary's fur._

_'Sherlock,' John said breathlessly. 'I'm here, Sherlock.'_

_Sherlock glanced up at the sound of his husband's voice and gave him a feeble smile. 'John,' he mumbled, feeling quite drowsy and disorientated. 'When did you get here?'_

_'Just now,' John answered breathlessly. 'I heard your scars opened again. I came prepared this time.' He patted his medical kit and motioned for Sherlock to try to sit up. 'I'm gonna clean you up and then I'm gonna stitch up a few of the bad scars, and then I'm gonna wrap you up again and you are going to bed.'_

_'Mmmm not tired,' Sherlock moaned like a petulant child. He still wriggled into a sitting position and blinked as he stared at the ground. 'Oh,' he muttered. 'My coffee went sploosh everywhere.'_

_John looked down at the carpet and groaned. 'God dammit,' he swore. 'Who made you coffee?' He looked toward Felicity when she whimpered, hiding behind her bear. John closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe. Not important, not important, not important, he told himself._

_'Ok, fine, whatever. I'll clean that later. Right now I need to take care of you. And trust me, you will be tired when I'm done with you.' He hauled Sherlock to his feet and led him to the bathroom yet again. Their clothes from their impromptu bath were still there. John shoved them aside and sat Sherlock on the edge of the tub, plugging the drain and turning on the water._

_'I'm cutting your bandages off now,' he said, informing Sherlock of what was going on as he seemed rather out of it. Was the pain really that intense?_

_Sherlock cradled his arms around John limply and whimpered. 'Ok, John, my little baba, my gorgeous Jawn.' He nuzzled John's neck and placed a hungry kiss on it. 'Make me all better.'_

_John grit his jaw and began cutting the soiled bandages off. They were worse than before, more blood pulsing from the scars than the previous times. John put the soiled bandages to the side and grabbed the bottle of hydrogen peroxide, dabbing it on the wounds. John could only hope that Sherlock was out of it enough that he wouldn't be able to feel the pinch and tug of the needle as he stitched up the worst of his back._

_'Sherlock, I'm going to stitch some of you worse scars closed so they won't open so easily. It might be a little uncomfortable,' he informed his delirious husband._

_The hot pain of Sherlock's scars was making its way through the thick smog that was filling his brain. His face was wet with tears. He'd lost a lot of blood and so he could only just about hear his husband's voice beating against his eardrums. He swallowed and reached out a hand, clutching John's wrist tightly._

_'J-J-ohn?' he hiccuped. 'What's going on?'_

_'I'm using that,' John said gently, taking his wrist from Sherlock's grasp. 'Your back started bleeding again, so I'm going to stitch up the worst ones. Prepare yourself.' He touched the needle to the worst scar and pushed it through, holding Sherlock tight against him._

_Sherlock screamed and thrashed as he felt something sharp slide into a scar on his back. 'Fuck!' he spat. 'Fucking stop!'_

_'Sherlock! Stop thrashing! You're making it worse!' His scars were bleeding heavily now, the blood oozing down his back in thick stripes._

_'Sherlock!' John managed to get him in a chokehold and held tight. 'Stop moving or I'll take you to the hospital. Where you know they'll want to keep you for observation and ask you questions about your scars. Not to mention your drinking habits. So, are you going to cooperate?' He eased off Sherlock's windpipe so he could breathe easier and so he could answer him._

_Sherlock stopped. 'But it hurts,' he complained. 'My back really hurts. I don't want you to carry on.'_

_'Sherlock, if I don't your back could continue to open up at the slightest twinge or movement. And you lose a lot of blood every time it opens. So, which would you rather cope with?' John paused before giving Sherlock his choices. 'The fogginess and deliriousness of blood loss or the tug and pull of a needle trying to prevent that?'_

_'I suppose the latter,' Sherlock moaned loudly. 'Just bloody get it over and done with.'_

_'Good choice,' John murmured. 'Now, hold still.' He released his hold on Sherlock's neck and grasped his shoulder instead. He continued his work on the worst scar, stitching it up quickly but efficiently. He closed the suture and sighed._

_'That's one,' he said softly. 'Two more to go.'_

_Sherlock whimpered. 'Hurry up,' he complained weakly. John grit his teeth and set to work on the final two. They were smaller than the first, so they didn't take nearly as long. When he was done he rinsed them with the hydrogen peroxide again and put the cream on them again, wrapping Sherlock up nice and snug in the bandages. He'd have to go out and buy more at this rate._

_'Ok, I'm going to get you some pain pills and then I want you to lay down off your back for a bit,' he said, reaching into his bag and pulling out a bottle of pills. 'I don't care if you don't fall asleep, you just need to stay off your back. Understood?' He handed Sherlock two tablets and a cup of water._

_'Aye, aye captain,' Sherlock mock saluted John as he popped the pills in his mouth and drank the water. 'May I have some breakfast and a fresh coffee too?' he asked. 'Sorry about dropping my cuppa earlier.'_

_John rolled his eyes and sighed._

_'Perhaps,' he muttered. 'You should go see Felicity first. She was pretty traumatised last I saw her.' He helped Sherlock up and manoeuvred him to the kitchen, sitting him on a stool before searching for Felicity. The poor girl was a wreck, sitting in the same corner hugging Beary to her tightly._

_'Princess?' John said softly. 'It's ok now, I fixed Sherlock's back and he's better now. You didn't break him. Would you like to see him and maybe have a little breakfast?'_

_'Ok,' she said softly. She grabbed John's hand and hauled herself to her feet, hugging him tightly before following him to the kitchen. She sat next to Sherlock, still clutching Beary to her chest._

_'I'm sorry, Dad,' she said into Beary's head. 'I'm sorry I hurt your back. But Dad fixed it, and it's ok now, right?'_

_Sherlock nodded, his head hanging down heavily on his neck, his hair falling across his face messily. 'It's perfectly fine, Princess. I can assure you I have suffered far greater pains in my life. I'm sure I'll pull through.'_

_'Here.' She pressed Beary against Sherlock's arm and smiled gently. 'Beary makes everything better.'_

_Sherlock snuggled Beary tightly, to which he heard an infuriated, 'Ouch!' He loosed his grip and began stroking Beary gently instead. 'Thank you. That's much better,' the voice spoke aloud again._

_'See? I told you Beary makes everything better,' Felicity smiled. John grumbled something about having to clean the carpet and then having to go shopping for food and bandages. He had been up for barely an hour and already his day was full. Ben ambled out of his room, a sheet wrapped haphazardly around him like a toga. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat down next to his sister, trying to quell his shaking._

_'Morning,' he yawned._

_Sherlock was still mulling over the voice he'd just heard. He just about managed to force out a greeting to Ben. 'Morning.'_

_'Morning!' the voice chorused, causing his brow to crease deeper._

_John cracked at least four eggs into a bowl, scrambling them into a yellow soup. He pulled more bacon out and began frying the pieces, making sure not to burn them all this time. He started the coffee maker and made enough so that everyone could have two cups if they chose._

_'How are you feeling this morning?' Ben asked softly, resting his head on his sheet-covered hand. 'Cuz I feel like shit.'_

_Sherlock pursed his lips in thought. How was he feeling?_

_He was hopelessly fatigued. He was still in pain despite the fact John had given him pain medication. His body was beginning to quake from the lack of alcohol in his system. His head was a pounding mess._

_'Alright, considering,' he managed to say in the end. 'Let's just say last night and this morning were quite eventful.'_

_'You can say that again!' This time Sherlock couldn't ignore the voice. He clenched Beary in his hands and glared at him._

_'Shut up,' he growled._

_'Dad?' Are you feeling ok?' Felicity asked, raising an eyebrow. She looked between her father and Beary, a frown threatening to fall._

_'I am fine,' Sherlock grit out._

_'Liar!'_

_Sherlock's nostrils flared. 'I said shut up. Are you a complete idiot?' he hissed at Beary._

_'Dad, you do know Beary's just a toy, right?' Felicity asked softly. 'He can't talk. And he hasn't talked to me since I was ten. But even then it was only in my imagination.'_

_'Of course I know that!' Sherlock exclaimed loudly._

_'In which case, why can you hear me Sherly?' Beary taunted._

_He let out a breathy laugh. 'Maybe I'm just insane.'_

_John paused in his cooking. Sherlock was hearing voices? He turned to see him glaring daggers at the bear in his hands. Hadn't he said he could talk to Beary a while back?_

_'I don't think you're insane, Dad,' Felicity said gently. She clasped a hand over one if Sherlock's and squeezed gently. 'I think you used Beary as a coping mechanism, someone you could talk to and would listen without judging you. Only now, it seems he has turned on you and is digging into your subconscious and making you feel insecure. Is that what happened?'_

_'Most likely, yes,' Sherlock whispered softly. 'If only I could remember.' He clasped his bigger hand in Felicity's tightly._

_'But you can't remember! You'll never remember!'_

_He grit his teeth together. 'Just shut up, Beary. Shut up before I make you.'_

_'Dad, give me the bear,' Felicity said gently. 'I'll take him away and then you won't hear him anymore.'_

_Sherlock shoved Beary into Felicity's hands. 'Take him,' he muttered like a mad man. 'Just take him.'_

_'It will be ok, Dad,' she said softly. She smoothed a hand down his curls and stood, wrapping Beary in her arms. She walked to her room and opened her wardrobe. She set Beary on the floor and closed the door, locking him inside._

_She went back to the kitchen just as the coffeemaker beeped. She poured four cups of coffee, handing one to Sherlock and Ben and set John's off to the side so he wouldn't bump it while he was cooking. She sat down next to Sherlock and clasped his hand again, rubbing soothing circles on his skin with her thumb. She sipped her own coffee and smiled up at him._

_Sherlock cracked a smile. 'Thank you, Princess.' He used the hand that wasn't entwined with his daughter's to pick up his coffee. Inhaling the dark, steaming liquid he moaned in pleasure and began to guzzle at it greedily, desperate to be more awake and to feel a little bit more human than he was currently feeling. He also wanted to show his son that he was sticking to his promise._

_Ben wrinkled his nose at the coffee sitting before him. He hated coffee. He needed a hit, a strong one. But if Sherlock could clean up then so could he. He sniffed at the coffee and managed to swallow the sound of disgust threatening to burst forth from his lips._

_'Can I get some creamer or something with this?' he asked, his voice cracking. 'I can't drink coffee black.'_

_John pulled out a bottle of creamer from the fridge and handed it to Ben, returning to cooking the eggs. Ben poured a liberal amount of creamer into his coffee, stirring it before taking a sip. It was still disgusting but at least it tasted better._

_'How can you two drink this stuff black?' he asked incredulously. 'It tastes like shit.'_

_Sherlock shrugged, placing his cup down momentarily to touch his now scalded tongue. 'I believe coffee is an acquired taste, Ben. Though it does grow on you after awhile.'_

_'What? So you just drink it and drink it until you start to like it?' Ben scoffed. 'That's not an acquired taste, that's Stockholm Syndrome.'_

_Sherlock hummed, looking straight up at his son now. 'Yes, I suppose it's just that.' His lips twitched with a hint of a smile. 'I blame your dad for getting me fixated on the stuff. I used to hate it too. I still don't particularly like it now.' He gave Ben a knowing look._

_'Oh,' Ben said softly, realising what his father meant. The caffeine. He was only drinking it for the caffeine. Right, the whole staying awake for three weeks thing. 'Right.'_

_John turned and placed a page of eggs and bacon in front of all three of them along with a glass of juice._

_'It anyone needs me I'll be trying to clean the coffee stain out of the carpet,' he grumbled. He stalked off to the closet and grabbed the cleaning supplies, snapping on a pair of hideous yellow gloves and pouring a mixture of bleach and soap onto the carpet. He let it soak for a few moments before trying to brush it out._

_'Well, I guess Dad's gonna have a bad day,' Ben muttered, sipping at his dreadful coffee._

_Sherlock sighed heavily. 'Dammit,' he muttered. 'This is all my fault. If it wasn't for my fucking scars your dad wouldn't have to deal with half my shit.'_

_'Scars?' Felicity asked, concern etched across her features. 'What scars?'_

_'I'm not sure it even matters anymore,' Sherlock sighed again. 'They aren't recent so please don't worry.'_

_'Well, when someone says scar they usually mean it's an old wound,' Felicity smiled softly. 'What happened, if I may ask?' She sipped at her coffee slowly._

_'I'd really rather not think about them,' he said, picking at his food with his fork. 'I think I did far too much of that yesterday, and this morning even. It was hard not to think about them when I was slowly bleeding to death because of them.'_

_Felicity's lip trembled. She turned to face her food and picked up a piece of bacon, nibbling on it._

_'I'm sorry about that,' she mumbled, trying not to cry. 'I should have known not to squeeze you so tight. I saw the bloody bandages–' She stopped at her choice of words. 'Shit, sorry. But, I saw you were in bandages and I hugged you tight anyway. What if your ribs had been hurt? Would I have broken any of them? I just... I'm sorry for splitting your back open and that Dad had to give you stitches. I'm sorry.'_

_'I see self blame runs in the family. Your dad is just the same. Keeps on making it out like it's his fault that I'm in pain.' Sherlock chewed on his food but he wasn't terribly hungry now. 'Neither of you were the ones to put my scars on my back so I wish you'd just stop with the blame game.' He glanced sideways to Ben before looking away sadly._

_'But it's my fault you got hurt this time,' Felicity pouted. She stabbed an egg harshly with her fork glaring a it like it had personally wronged her. 'And why do you keep looking to Ben? What are you not telling me? Yes, I can tell. I learned my powers of observation from the best.'_

_Sherlock scowled and picked up his coffee, taking big gulps of the cooling liquid. 'There is nothing to tell, Felicity,' he said rather coldly. 'It wasn't your fault this morning and that is that. Conversation over.'_

_Felicity pouted but dropped the subject. She shoved a large bite of eggs into her mouth, forcing herself to focus on eating even though all she wanted to do was talk with her dad. Ben, on the other hand, had been silent the entire time. He had shoveled his food into his mouth quickly, sipping at his coffee every now and again and wrinkling his nose in distaste each time. He could sense the tension in the room but he ignored it. If he ignored it then he wouldn't have to deal with it._

_Sherlock drained his cup before pushing it aside. He turned his nose up at the rest of his food and instead chose to lay his head on his arms, refusing to look at either of his children._

_Felicity finished her eggs and pushed her plate away, leaving the table without speaking a word. She stalked off to her room, changing into her pjs and climbing into bed. She could feel Beary's dead eyes on her, staring through the wood of her wardrobe and penetrating her soul. She shoved the covers off and opened the door, staring down at her old bear. She plucked him off the floor and closed her wardrobe, pulling the covers around them and cuddling her bear close._

_'Don't say such mean things to my dad,' she whispered in his fluffy ear. 'He needs help and support, not discouragement. Please, be nice to my daddy.'_

_The bear didn't answer but she knew he had heard._

_Sherlock shifted on his seat and turned his head to peer at Ben through his curls. 'How are you holding up?' he asked. 'Truthfully. I don't want the edited version of your answer.'_

_'Ok,' Ben said slowly. 'I just... My head is killing me and my body aches and I can't stop shaking. But otherwise ok.'_

_'It will pass. That I can promise you.' Sherlock let his head loll back onto his arms and groaned._

_'You don't look like you're doing so well,' Ben said softly. 'Do you want the rest of my coffee?' He pushed the mug over to him. 'It might be a little strongly flavoured though. Not sure if you'll like it.'_

_'Don't care,' Sherlock mumbled into his arms, reaching out a hand to clasp the handle of the cup. 'Thank you.' He lifted his head enough to begin sipping at the offered coffee. 'Blah.' He almost spat it back out but managed to refrain himself from doing so. 'And you say having it just black is disgusting?'_

_Ben just smirked. 'It is. To me, anyway. I like my coffee flavoured.' Ben stood and filled the electric kettle with water, turning it on and getting out a fresh mug for tea. He grabbed a packet of English Breakfast and set it in his mug, waiting for the water to boil._

_Sherlock sat up to watch his son. 'I need your help today,' he said delicately. 'I need to pick up some supplies. Some energy drinks and other things that will help me.'_

_'I... Um... I can't drive,' Ben said softly, staring at the kettle. 'And after last night I doubt any of my "friends" would be willing to give us a ride.'_

_'Well luckily for you I can,' Sherlock retorted. 'All I need you to do is convince your dad that it's a good idea and for you to come with me.'_

_'That it's a good idea for you to drive? Or to get caffeine?' Ben asked raising an eyebrow. The kettle turned off and Ben poured himself a cup of tea, letting it steep and cool. 'Or do you want me to say that we're going out to go shopping and we'll be like each other's guide or some shit? Like, if you want alcohol I'll stop you and if I run into one of my dealers you'll stop me?'_

_'That it's a good idea for me to drive, yes,' Sherlock nodded and made a sound in the back of his throat. 'And the shopping thing is a rather good cover, but it will also be the truth. I will not allow any of your dealers to get to you again. I'm fairly sure that your Uncle will have already imprisoned them by the end of this week as it is. You won't be hearing from them ever again and if you do I shall not allow you to take that path.'_

_Ben paled and swallowed. 'Ok, yeah, sure. Can I finish my tea first? And then we both need to get dressed.' He sipped at his tea. It was still too hot. 'Hrm. Maybe I can transfer it to a travel mug or something.'_

_'You finish your tea. I'm going to go through the challenge of putting a top on over my bandages.' Sherlock swilled the awful tasting coffee down his mouth and went to stand up. He managed to but not without a pained grunt escaping his lips first._

_'Oh, and Ben?' he asked, looking back at his son._

_'Yeah?' Ben answered, looking up from stirring his tea._

_'Thank you.'_

_With those two simple words said he went to take his leave._

_Ben smiled warmly and sipped at his tea. He was warmed to the core, and not just from the steaming liquid. He heard John swear from the sitting room and grimaced. He really didn't want to have to face him, but Sherlock needed the caffeine. He set his mug down and walked to stand under the arch._

_'Hey, Dad?' he said softly._

_'What?' John snapped, looking up from his frantic scrubbing. 'Oh, sorry Ben. It's just been a rough morning.'_

_'I know. Which is why I came to ask you this.' He moved closer to John and knelt down to his level. 'Since you're already under a lot of stress, why don't you let me and Sherlock go do the shopping? You could use a breather and maybe the open air will be good for me and him. What do you say?'_

_'I'm not sure I trust him driving, but ok,' John sighed, a load rolling off his shoulders. 'I'll make a list of what we need and you two can go get it, alright?'_

_'Alright,' Ben smiled. That went better than expected. He went back to his room and threw on some clothes, making sure he put a jacket on to cover his arms. He then went up to Sherlock's room and knocked on the door._

_'We're in the clear,' he said to the door. 'Dad is just gonna give us a list of stuff to buy and then we can go.'_

_'Okay!' Sherlock yelled back. 'Just give me a few minutes and I'll be out.'_

_He began to stiffly pull on some blue jeans. With the easy part done he wondered what top he should wear. In the end he plucked out a dark green t-shirt. It was thin and made out of a light material that left plenty of space for his scars to breath._

_Satisfied, he pulled open the door and hobbled out._

_Ben was sipping his tea when Sherlock made it back down the stairs._

_'Hey,' he smiled. 'Dad gave me this.' He held up a slip of paper. 'We need more cleaning supplies, bandages, antiseptic rinse for your back, and then whatever else we want. I think he meant snacks but whatever.' He drank the last of his tea and set the mug in the sink._

_'Shall we go?'_

_'Yes.' Sherlock scanned the air around him. 'Where are the car keys?' he asked a little shyly. 'Because we're going nowhere without those.'_

_'Dad keeps 'em on a hook by the door.' Ben walked over to it and snagged them off. 'Here.' He tossed them to Sherlock without thinking, hoping at the last second that he could catch them._

_Sherlock caught them in one hand and laughed. 'I see I'm not a complete cripple then.'_

_'Never said you were,' Ben smiled. 'Let's go.' He strode off to the door and stepped out into the early morning sunlight. 'Gah! Fuck!' he cried, shielding his eyes. 'It's fucking bright!'_

_Sherlock winced. 'Sorry, forgot about that. Do you want to go back inside? I can do this on my own.' He really didn't want to go alone. Who knew what temptations he might end up giving in to? However, his son's health and well being came first._

_'No, I'll go with you,' Ben grunted. 'Just need some sunglasses.' He grabbed a pair off the dresser by the door and put them on. 'See? Better. Let's go.' He walked to the car and opened the passenger door and sat inside._

_Sherlock slid into his seat and started the engine. 'You know you're brilliant for putting up with my shit, right?' he asked, placing his hands on the wheel._

_'Someone has to,' Ben smirked. He covered his ears when the radio turned on, turning it all the way down before relaxing. 'Much better,' he sighed._

_Sherlock turned on the sat nav, not trusting the map unfolding in his mind one little bit. They drove in silence all the way to the shop. The silence wasn't awkward. It was just the result of two very grumpy people who were detoxing. Ben rested his head against the window, closing his eyes and trying to concentrate on willing the pounding in his head to stop. Sherlock noted that his hands were starting to shake, but luckily by this point they were pulling into the supermarket car park._

_'We're here,' he said quietly, aware of how much Ben's head was hurting._

_'Ok,' Ben grunted. He lifted his head slowly off the window, wincing at the throbbing in his head. 'We parked yet?'_

_Sherlock manoeuvred the car into a free spot and cut the engine. 'We are now, yes.'_

_'Ok. Let's make this quick. Because I think I'm gonna be sick.' Ben opened the car door and nearly fell out, righting himself before he faceplanted the pavement. 'I'm good,' he groaned._

_'Are you certain?' Sherlock gave Ben a skeptical look as he got out of the car. 'You don't look good.'_

_He wasn't feeling in top form either but he wasn't going to mention it._

_'I'll be fine,' Ben groaned. 'Let's just go. I'll feel better in the air conditioning. Too hot out here.'_

_Sherlock wasn't going to mention that it was in fact quite nippy outside as he knew what drug withdrawals could do to a person. They entered the supermarket and began picking up the items John wanted. Once all of those had been tossed in a shopping trolley Sherlock took a deep breath._

_'Now for what we really came for: caffeine.'_

_'Ugh, right,' Ben groaned. He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering harshly. 'Let's be quick. It's freezing in here.'_

_Sherlock couldn't help but agree with the need to be quick. He was holding back his own withdrawal symptoms and it wouldn't be long before his shaking and his headache worsened. He pushed the trolley down the drinks aisle, Ben dragging himself behind him. He stopped when he reached the energy drink section._

_'Which ones do I pick and how many cans?'_

_Ben squinted up at the shelf. Even behind his sunglasses the building was too goddamn bright. He pointed to a box of Monster._

_'Get that. There's four cans and you only need one because it gives you like seven hours of energy. You can get as many as you want, but definitely get the ones that are mixed with tea and lemonade. It won't burn so bad on the way down. And, if you want some, get some Five Hour Energy shots. They taste like shit, but you can discretely add them to a drink and Dad won't know the difference.'_

_Sherlock tossed several of the monster animal packs into the trolley before adding some of the Five Hour Energy shots too. He didn't care if they tasted like shit. If they did their job of keeping him awake whilst keeping this experiment a secret he was fine with that._

_'That should do,' Sherlock said with a satisfied sigh. 'I can always come back for more if necessary.'_

_'Right, yeah,' Ben groaned. 'Let's pay and get outta here. I need a warm shower.'_

_They quickly paid for the products, using a self check out service so as to not have to deal with people who might pry into why they had brought so much caffeine. Sherlock placed the bought goods into the boot of the car and got into the driver's seat. He was now physically shaking and his head was pounding. He waited for his son to scootch in before starting the engine and heading home. Ben flopped down in his seat and groaned. His head was pounding and his heart was racing and he needed a fix badly. He also needed to throw up but he wasn't going to do that in the car._

_'Get us home, Dad,' he moaned, clutching onto his stomach and head. 'Hurry.'_

_Sherlock couldn't have agreed more with his son's statement to hurry. He tried to make the journey as short as possible without getting pulled over for speeding, upsetting Ben's stomach and head, or his own. Ben was trembling in his seat. He was nauseous, his head felt like something was trying to dig its way out, and his entire body ached. He needed to vomit and he needed to lay down in the cool tub with hot water streaming over him._

_'Home, yet?' he grit out, barely holding back the vomit that threatened to spill forth._

_Sherlock sped up the drive of the house and came to a stop._

_'Home,' he confirmed with a weak nod of his head. 'Go on inside. I'll be right behind you.'_

_Ben barely had his door open before the contents of his stomach spilled out. Thankfully none of it landed on the inside of the car. John would have killed him. John loved the car. More than he loved Ben probably. The thought caused Ben to burst into tears, but also because his throat now hurt and his head was pounding harder than ever and he vomited again at how severe the pain was._

_'It hurts so goddamn much!' he wailed after emptying his stomach again. 'Make it stop!'_

_Sherlock wrinkled up his nose as he got out the car. He stepped around the sick his son had just produced and gingerly moved him away from it. His own head felt like it had been slammed in a door several times over but he ignored his own pain, focusing on Ben._

_He wrapped his arms around his son and kissed his head. 'It'll be ok. You just need to sleep it off. Think you can make it to the house?'_

_'Yeah,' Ben groaned. 'I can try.' He struggled out if Sherlock's grasp and stumbled up the drive, bracing himself against the door. He managed to get it open and he nearly fell inside. Thankfully he didn't fall and he stumbled his way down the hall. He could hear the shower running in his dads' room. John was probably sitting in there crying. He usually did when he had a stressful day._

_He stumbled into his room and pulled the blinds shut, closing his door quietly behind him. He tore off his clothes, leaving his pants on, and crawled into bed. He only remembered to take his sunglasses off when they pinched his nose as he lay his head on his pillow. He tossed the across the room somewhere, drawing his blankets over his head and curling in on himself. He needed his head to stop pounding, he needed some heavy duty aspirin, he needed a fix. He knew his dads would only give him one of those, and it wouldn't be the one he wanted them to give him._

_Sherlock sighed, grabbing the shopping from the boot before making his way inside. He firstly unpacked the things John had asked him to buy before hiding his caffeine supply in a seemingly unused cupboard. His legs threatened to collapse beneath him and his head spun as he made his way up the stairs. The shower was running and as Sherlock crept into the bedroom he could hear sobbing._

_'Oh, John,' he whispered. He unbuckled his jeans and stripped out of them before slipping his t-shirt off. He then proceeded to walk into the bathroom. He silently climbed into the shower and wrapped his arms around a crying John. John turned around in Sherlock's arms and sobbed into his chest. He couldn't form words yet, just cried. Sherlock didn't care that his bandages were getting wet, didn't care that his head felt like it was going to explode, nor did he bother speaking. He just held his husband gently, nuzzling his neck._

_'No,' John sobbed. He shook his head. 'Not this time.'_

_'What?' Sherlock asked softly. 'What do you mean?'_

_'Sex,' John grumbled. 'Not this time. You're sick, I can feel it. You're trembling, you're burning up, and I don't want to hurt you. So, I'm saying no.'_

_'I wasn't suggesting anything,' Sherlock said honestly. 'I just wanted to give my husband a hug. And I'm fine so you can stop worrying.'_

_'I'm just letting you know ahead of time,' John mumbled. He hugged him tighter, inhaling his scent. 'You said yourself we use sex as a coping mechanism and a way to comfort the other. And I'm just letting you know it's not going to happen this time. I want to see if we can have an actual moment without throwing sex into the mix.'_

_Sherlock laughed lightly. 'The sex is so good though. But I can see your point, so I'll try to hold myself back.'_

_'I know it's good, but it can't be healthy to use it like that so much,' John mused. 'I don't want to have needy, emotional sex so often. I want to have passionate, heated, loving sex. Maybe not every time, but it's the sex I prefer.'_

_'Very well,' Sherlock replied, placing a kiss on John's temple. 'We shall wait till the time is right. Now are you going to tell me what your tears are for?'_

_'It's just... It's been a stressful morning. Stitching up your back, dealing with Felicity's raging emotions, you and that damn bear, and Ben's detox. The coke bugs are going to start soon. You know that, right? And, god I feel so horrible for even thinking this, but I'm not looking forward to that at all.'_

_'We shall pull through this. All of this,' Sherlock tried to reassure John. 'Things will be a little bumpy. That's granted with two detoxing people in the same house. Just take a deep breath and imagine the future where Ben and I are better and we're all happy.'_

_'I like that future,' John smiled. He nuzzled Sherlock's chest and hummed. 'I like it a lot.'_

_'And maybe we can all take a holiday somewhere nice.' Sherlock kissed John's neck lovingly._

_'We can go to America and spend some time with Felicity,' John smiled. 'I can't believe she'll be going all the way to America. God. It's so far away. My baby girl's going to college.' Another sob broke free, but it wasn't from stress that time._

_Sherlock held John flush against him. 'And she's going to be so successful. Stop focusing on the bad. The John Watson I know isn't such a pessimist.'_

_'I'm not focussing on the bad,' John sniffled. 'It's a good thing that she's going away to school, that she's going to help people. I'm just sad she'll be so far away.'_

_Sherlock hummed, 'Understandable, but it's not goodbye. Not forever at least.'_

_'I know, I know,' John sighed. 'I'm gonna miss her is all. And I'll write to her and e-mail and call and maybe even try video chatting with her every now and again.'_

_'Of course. Naturally.' Sherlock ran the back of his fingers down John's cheeks._

_John leaned into the gentle touch, humming in content._

_'Sorry I've been so pessimistic lately,' he said softly. 'It's stress, I suppose. Maybe lack of sleep and too much worry.'_

_'It's okay now, John. Let me take that away from you.' Sherlock pecked his husband on the lips._

_John sighed into the kiss, his hands moving from Sherlock's waist to cup his face and pull him down. He intensified the kiss, moulding their lips together, licking across Sherlock's top lip teasingly._

_Sherlock groaned and pulled away. 'Sorry,' he apologised. 'But you cannot expect me to refrain myself when you kiss me like that.'_

_'Maybe I don't want you to right now,' John answered hazily. 'You said you would take it away, so take it.' He brought their lips together again, snogging his husband like it was their last day on Earth._

_Sherlock moaned and snogged John back greedily. His head was beginning to swim and he had to pull away again._

_'Maybe I lied when I said I was fine.'_

_'I thought as much,' John mused. 'Do you want to sit in the shower for a bit and let the water run on your head? I can put fresh bandages on you after.'_

_Sherlock nodded and pressed his forehead to John's. 'That may be a good idea, yes.'_

_'Ok, love.' John pressed a gentle kiss to Sherlock's forehead. 'Before I go, do you want me to wash your hair?' he asked with a soft grin._

_A fond smile momentarily replaced the pained frown that had been pinching at Sherlock's features. 'I would love to have my hair washed. We were quite rudely interrupted yesterday.'_

_'Yes, but it was for a good cause,' John said. He manoeuvred them around so Sherlock's head could be under the spray if water while John reached for the bottle of shampoo. Once Sherlock's hair was plastered to this head and face, looking all the world like a wet cat, John began to work the shampoo in, starting with his scalp before moving on to the sides. Sherlock carefully leant his head on his husband's shoulder, proportioning his weight just so. He didn't close his eyes in fear of what lay beyond them. However, he did find that his entire body was going from tense to visibly relaxed. He hummed as John's fingers worked through his curls. They seemed to hold some sort of magic within them as his headache and fatigue floated away into nothingness._

_John continued to massage Sherlock's head well after he'd rinsed the shampoo out. Sherlock was enjoying it immensely, and John didn't want to break the connection just yet. He moved to work at the spot just above Sherlock's neck, humming when Sherlock did at the touch. Sherlock melded his body further against John's and placed a kiss on the side of his neck, encouraging him to continue his work with his wonderful fingers._

_'Feeling better?' John smiled against Sherlock's neck. His fingers travelled to the top of his head by his forehead, massaging in larger but gentler circles._

_'A little.' Sherlock moved his head against John's shoulder and let out a long sigh. 'I best be getting out now so that you can replace my bandages.'_

_'Yes, we probably should.' John placed a soft kiss to Sherlock's neck and shut off the water. He helped Sherlock out of the tub before sitting him on the edge._

_'Do you think you can dry yourself off?' he asked, handing him a towel. 'I'm just going to get the bandages. And save your back for me to dry. I don't want you ripping your stitches.'_

_'I wasn't planning on touching my back.' Sherlock pulled a face. 'I'm only sorry that you'll have to.' He began dabbing at his skin with the towel, starting with his legs and then his arms and torso._

_'It's fine, love,' John said softly, placing a kiss to his forehead. 'It makes me feel like a doctor again. Like I'm needed and important. Not that I'm not, but it's a different feeling. Being needed as a doctor and being needed as a dad are two very different feelings.'_

_'You'll always be my doctor, John. Just like you always have been,' Sherlock said steadily, gazing up at his husband._

_'Thanks, love,' John smiled brightly. He pecked Sherlock's lips lightly before dashing off to get the bandages. He found them and quickly dashed back upstairs, his medical kit under his arm._

_'Ok, love. I'm gonna have to cut these off again. Prepare yourself.'_

_Sherlock took a deep breath. 'Prepare to be insulted and sworn at,' he told his husband, his lips quivering in a brief moment of amusement._

_'I always do,' John smirked. 'Just know that I love you and this is for your own good.' He cut at the bandages, snipping each layer off slowly before peeling them off. Sherlock's back didn't look too bad. Maybe a little red and inflamed, but at least it wasn't bleeding. John gently dabbed the towel against the scars, irritating them further but none broke open, which was good. John dabbed the cream on them again before wrapping Sherlock back up nice and snug._

_'There,' he smiled, fastening the bandages together. 'That wasn't too bad, was it?'_

_Sherlock peeled his teeth away from his lower lip. They had sunk into the soft flesh the moment his bandages had been snipped off of his back._

_'I suppose not,' he said, his voice weak and cracked but stable._

_'Good. Well, I'm going to lie down for a bit,' John yawned. 'I had a busy morning, tending to you and making breakfast and cleaning the coffee out of the carpet–which I managed to get out by the way. But you're more than welcome to cuddle with me if you want.'_

_Sherlock stood up with a prolonged hiss, stretching out his muscles. 'I will join you in a minute. I'm just going downstairs to get a drink.' He paused and rethought his choice of words. 'Non-alcoholic, John. I'm just a little thirsty. Once I'm done I'll come and cuddle you.'_

_'Well, unless you bought some today you won't be finding any in the house,' John scowled. 'I emptied them all yesterday and tossed the bottles out as well.' He towelled off his hair and Sherlock's, their locks sticking up in random places. 'But go ahead and get your drink. Hurry back.' He placed a soft kiss to Sherlock's lips before scuttling off to the bed. He pulled on a fresh pair of pants and climbed in between the covers._

_Sherlock shook his head. 'I very much doubt Benny would have forgiven me if I had bought alcohol.' Luckily his temptations had been quelled somewhat by his sole focus on finding a large dosage of caffeine. He pulled on some pyjama bottoms with a little bit of awkwardness as his back wouldn't allow him to bend very low._

_'I'll just be a few minutes,' he promised his husband as he left their bedroom, feeling a little bit better than when he had entered it._

_'I'll be waiting,' John purred. He settled into the sheets and hummed, comfy and content._

_Sherlock made his steady way into the kitchen. He quickly located the abandoned cupboard that he'd stored his caffeinated drinks in and ripped one of the many cans from its packet. He pulled the tab open and began to drink the liquid, slowly at first, uncertain of whether he would be able to tolerate the taste. It actually wasn't too bad in the end, and was far better than drinking coffee which only ended up burning his tongue and throat. The energy drink was the complete opposite as it happened, cooling and refreshing and heavenly as it slipped down into his system._

_He instantly felt more alert and he drained the can with ease. He crushed it in his hands so that it was an unrecognisable metal object before tossing it in the bin and racing up the stairs back to his and John's bedroom._

_'Ready for that cuddle?' he asked excitedly as he sped through the door. He didn't receive an answer. John had fallen asleep._

_John mumbled in his sleep, his arm draped over Sherlock's empty side of the bed. His fingers twitched, searching for the warm body. Where was he?_

_Sherlock let out a brief chuckled. 'Oh, John,' he whispered softly as he crawled underneath the covers, moving John's arm so it was wrapped around him. 'Good night, my dear.'_

_John hummed when he felt his hand come into contact with warm flesh. He fingers curled into soft cotton and he pulled himself closer, his forehead laying against Sherlock's chest._

_**…::-::…**_

_Sherlock was exhausted. In fact, exhausted probably wasn't even the correct word for how he was feeling and was a grand understatement. He felt like he was a walking, talking corpse. After seven whole days and nights without even a mere wink of sleep that was hardly surprising. And to add to the pile of things making him feel like shit he was still withdrawing from his prolonged overuse of alcohol._

_His body was almost constantly wracked with shaking. Whether it be his alcohol withdrawal symptoms, his desire for more coffee, or the energy highs that he received from the energy drinks that had practically become part of his daily ritual._

_The past week had been incredibly hard on the ex-detective and quite frankly he was beyond shocked that he had managed to get that far without collapsing or raising suspicion. He wasn't far from it though, he could tell. Still, he pressed on, drinking caffeine discreetly. Every time he lied to John it was like a stab to the heart, and there had been many occasions in the passing days that Sherlock had wanted to tell his husband the whole truth. However, one look at his son soon made that idea disappear from his mind. It reminded him why he was doing this. For him. For his son._

_He wasn't going to go to sleep because if he did the threat of losing more of his memories hovered close by. He wasn't prepared to lose more of his memories just yet. Not whilst Ben was going through such a rough patch. His son needed him in this current time and Sherlock wasn't going to let him down. His 'experiment' was working though. Since he hadn't been sleeping no more memories had been stolen from him._

_Ben's coke bugs had started now and his moods were dark and foreboding. However, Sherlock found that when it was just himself and his son in a room Ben calmed down significantly so, and those knowing glances they shared between each other comforted both his son and himself. He was aware those looks hadn't gone unnoticed but he presumed since he and Ben were getting on so marvelously John wasn't going to bring it up._

_He had taken to playing his violin at night to distract him from the world of sleep that was calling his name. He never failed to note the frown lines creasing his husband's head when he came downstairs in the morning to find him still playing, but still John remained silent and the 'experiment' continued. His daughter would give him the occasional sad smile and in those moments his mind would scream at him. He might very well be helping his son but how many other people was he hurting?_

_Sherlock had started using 'making love' sessions to keep the obvious questions brewing in his husband's mind at bay. In fact said 'making love' sessions had become so frequent that he was beginning to feel slightly akin to a piece of meat, and he was fairly sure that John was feeling the same way. And still no questions were asked._

_His only real difficulty was in the form of the idiotic nurse his brother had hired. Surely a nurse knew what sleep deprivation looked like? And yet if she did notice it she didn't mention anything. She just sat there whilst both he and Ben threw curse words and abuse at her angrily._

_However, Sherlock had a feeling that today was the day. The day that everything was going to be revealed and his experiment would end in a lot of angry exchanges and hurt feelings. The first sign of this was the look John gave him when he found him once again sat on the sofa playing his violin after a night of not sleeping._

_'Morning.' Sherlock's words cracked in the air like thunder. His voice barely sounded human._

_One week. Seven whole days. That's how long it took for John to notice something was very, very wrong with his husband. He was shocked it had taken him that long, and disappointed in himself that he hadn't noticed it sooner. But he had just assumed it was his withdrawal and detox affecting him. Sherlock had been distant and secretive, which was understandable. He was going through a tough time and probably didn't want John to have to see him at his worst._

_He would go through spells of intense energy, almost like he'd slept the night through when John knew he hadn't. He would jump John as soon as they were alone, their love making frenzied, frantic, and sometimes not very satisfying. But John didn't ask questions, didn't let on that he was worried. But John was always worried. It was in his nature to worry, it was what Johns did._

_He was worried about Ben and his coke bugs, he was worried about Sherlock and his dehydration, he was worried about Felicity and how she was coping with it all, but mostly he was worried about Sherlock's increasingly haggard appearance. But every time he was with Ben the two would exchange knowing looks, almost like they had a running joke between them. Or they had a shared, secret between them and every time they looked at one another it was some sort of signal. They were both still trying to get clean, so maybe it was a signal to stop living in the real world and escape together. Maybe they snuck off and isolated themselves from the world, just spending time with one another. They had been playing violin together a lot lately. Maybe that was how they did it._

_But he was still worried about Sherlock and how he seemed to not be sleeping. The two would go to bed together, sometimes making frantic love, sometimes not. John would cuddle Sherlock and fall asleep rather quickly, but he would wake up in the night, Sherlock's side of the bed cold, and he could hear violin music coming from downstairs. Was Sherlock even sleeping? When had he last slept? John woke from his worried dreams and rolled over. Once again, Sherlock's side was cold and hadn't been slept in. John groaned and crawled out of bed, pulling on a set of pyjamas before heading downstairs._

_Sherlock was sitting on the couch, playing his violin as usual. The spot on the sofa he so often occupied was becoming depressed with the shape of his buttocks, proving that he had been occupying a great deal of his time there. When he spoke his voice sounded strained, dry, and barely even human. He was shaking, his head was drooping, his eyes kept falling shut before snapping open. All in all, he looked like shit._

_'Morning,' John answered softly. He eyed his husband up and down, taking in his appearance and frowning. 'Couldn't sleep?' He decided to give Sherlock the option to tell him if something was going on. He didn't want to pry, he wanted Sherlock to trust him enough to tell him himself._

_Sherlock had known that it was coming, had even come up with a thousand excuses for his lack of sleeping, but his lips failed to express any of those excuses with words, and his brain wasn't much use to him either. His head dropped to one side on his chest with a light thud and his eyes gave a little flicker, threatening to close._

_**No.**_ **_Not yet. _****_Stop._**

_He shook his head and groaned, looking at his husband through hazy eyes. His shoulders gave a slight defeated shrug as he tried to straighten himself up, only to fail and to slump further in his seat._

_John sighed, moving to Sherlock's side and propping him up._

_'When was the last time you slept?' he asked gently. 'And don't say that you have. I know what sleep deprivation looks like. I only wish I'd seen it sooner.'_

_Sherlock sighed heavily in return and shrugged again. Was there much point in lying to his husband anymore? Wasn't the truth going to come out soon anyway? Most likely when he collapsed from exhaustion or John found his suspicious caffeine supply._

_However, it turned out that he didn't have to say anything as his son crept into the lounge, a sheet wrapped around his body, and an obvious foul mood brewing within him. Surely John would be more focused on Ben than him._

_John watched Ben as he entered the room, a dark scowl on his face. Well, shit. The boy sat in an armchair and brought his knees up to his chest, glaring over them at his parents._

_'Morning Ben,' John said gently. 'How did you sleep?'_

_'How the fuck do you think I slept?' the boy snapped, his curls dancing wildly on his head. 'I've still got coke bugs if you're wondering. Persistent fuckers, aren't they? How long are they supposed to last?'_

_'It's different for everyone, and how long you were on the drugs and how much you used,' John said softly. 'It will get easier as you detox. I promise.'_

_Ben groaned and pressed his forehead against his knees, his arms scratching at his skin under the blanket._

_'How's Dad holding up?' Ben asked absently._

_'He seems to be ok,' John said, turning to Sherlock's jumping form. He could tell he was trying to keep himself awake, and John frowned. 'Do you know when the last time he slept was?'_

_'He hasn't been sleeping?' Ben asked, playing dumb. 'I hadn't noticed anything. What makes you say that?'_

_'Ben, you may think you're being secretive, but you're wrong,' John scowled. 'I'm not an idiot, I know what sleep deprivation looks like. And I also know your tell. Stop pulling at your ear and tell me the truth.'_

_Ben's hand dropped, frowning. He looked to Sherlock apologetically before he answered._

_'A week. It's been a week.'_

_A growl arose in Sherlock's throat as he heard Ben tell John how long he hadn't been sleeping for. But that was all he could muster before he fell over sideways on the sofa. He lay there, frowning, eyelids heavy._

_'Thanks a bloody lot, Ben,' he grumbled._

_'I'm sorry, Dad,' Ben sniffled. 'I'm so sorry.'_

_'Sherlock, you are a bloody idiot,' John sighed, pinching the bridge if his nose. 'Why haven't you been sleeping? Nightmares? Or have you just decided to stay awake throughout your detox? Because that is the stupidest idea you've ever had. You need your rest when you're detoxing. No, don't you dare say one word. I am taking you upstairs and I am going to out you to bed. And you will sleep, so help me god. I'll sedate you if I have to.'_

_He hauled Sherlock up and into his arms, holding him tight as he struggled against him. 'Stop it,' John growled. 'You are going to bed and that's final. You can tell me all about your idiotic plan in the morning.' He hauled Sherlock up the stairs and deposited him in their bed, wrapping him up in the sheets._

_'Now go the fuck to sleep or so help me I will sedate you.'_

_Sherlock stared at his husband, pursing lips, and if anything even more determined to not close his eyes. He smiled a little deviously at his husband and mumbled a 'Fine.'_

_John glared at him but was quick to take his leave. Sherlock could tell that he was barely keeping his cool. The moment the door slammed shut Sherlock crawled from under his covers and sought out his mobile phone, sending a text to his son._

_**Benny, when you get this you better fucking bring me some caffeine. I'm not prepared to go to sleep yet. Not after we've come this far. I don't want to forget, Benny. I don't want our relationship to go back to the way it was. Ignore your dad, make an excuse to see me, just please bring me some and quickly. -SH**_

_Ben had retreated to his room, his face mashed into his pillows. He felt so guilty for betraying his dad like that. God, why did John have to intimidate him so much? His phone buzzed loudly and he jumped, barely holding back a shriek of surprise. He pulled it off the side table and opened the new message. He swallowed when he read it, nodding to no one in particular._

_**Ok. I'll see what I can do. -BH**_

_He sent the text and crawled out of bed, pulling on a pair of pyjama trousers before opening his door silently. John was in the sitting room, taking care of Sherlock's violin. Good. Maybe he wouldn't have to face him._

_Ben snuck to the abandoned cupboard and pulled out a can of Monster. He shut it quietly and rushed to the stairs as quietly as he could. He took them two at a time, arriving at his parents' bedroom door and rushing inside._

_'Here. Dad didn't see. And, I'm really sorry. Please don't hate me.'_

_Sherlock took the can from his son with shaking hands and brought it to his lips, drinking it as though it were his lifeline. And, in a way, he supposed it was. Once he'd finished it he pushed himself up in the bed._

_'I don't hate you, Benny.' His voice was still tight and horribly strained but at least he felt a little more human than he had only a few minutes earlier._

_'Ok,' Ben sighed, tension rolling off his shoulders. 'I'm still sorry for outing you.' He sat on the edge of the bed and grabbed one of Sherlock's hands. 'Other than the sleep deprivation, how are you holding up?'_

_'Oh, I'm doing brilliant,' Sherlock laughed. 'Absolutely fucking brilliant!'_

_He shook his head. 'Sorry. I just–' he swallowed hard. 'I just really don't feel too good.'_

_'You're delirious, Dad,' Ben frowned. 'I know you don't want to forget, but maybe some sleep would do you some good.'_

_'No, Benny,' Sherlock said stubbornly. 'I'm not sleeping. Not yet at least. I just need to buy us another week. It shouldn't be too difficult.'_

_'God. Another week? Are you sure you can last?' Ben swallowed and frowned. 'Because you look really out of it. Imagine how you'll be after another week.'_

_Sherlock scrubbed at his face and let out a loud groan. 'I'm going to do it, Benny. For you. I made a promise and I am a man of my word.'_

_'I know, and you've proven yourself,' Ben said, clasping Sherlock's hand tightly. 'I don't want you getting sicker while I'm getting better. I know you're doing it for me, but still. I don't want you to hurt yourself in the process.'_

_'I'm not just doing it for you,' Sherlock whispered. 'I'm doing it for me. In the long run, things will be ok.'_

_'God I hope so,' Ben sighed._

_'Ben! Sherlock is supposed to be sleeping! What are you doing here?' John exclaimed from the door. 'And what is that? Is that an energy drink? Is that how you've been staying awake?'_

_Sherlock jumped and fidgeted nervously where he lay. His nerves were shot from exhaustion and John's voice pierced his ears painfully and grated on his nerves further. He clamped his hands over his ears, ignoring anything else his husband had left to say. Ben scrambled from the room, running from the row he was certain was about to happen. He locked himself in his room and covered his head with a pillow, wanting to block out the noises from his parents as well as the ones in his head. John, upstairs, was not having any of Sherlock's childish actions._

_'Sherlock, take your hands away from your ears and listen to me,' he demanded. When Sherlock made no move to do so he growled in frustration and grabbed them away himself._

_'I said, listen to me!' he yelled. 'What the hell is going on? Why are you trying to stay awake for so long? What crazy idea have you gotten in your head that you're losing sleep over it? Tell me! Tell me please!'_

_'I can't tell you!' Sherlock all but screamed. 'You wouldn't understand!'_

_'You told our son and he seemed to understand it just fine!' John retorted. 'I'm not a moron, Sherlock. Go ahead and try me. I'm smarter than you like to think.'_

_Sherlock flipped himself over so his face was buried deep within his pillow. 'I can't tell you, John. I made a promise to Ben and you'll force me to break that promise,' he mumbled, once again covering his ears with his hands. 'Now leave me the hell alone.'_

_'No,' John growled. 'I want to understand what the hell is going on. Please, Sherlock. I'm worried about you. You look like death, and you're scaring me. What promise did you make that you can't break? Please, love. I just want to understand.'_

_'I said that I'd be there for him.' Sherlock's breathing was nearing what would be considered unhealthy. 'So nothing you goddamn say or do will stop me from continuing what I'm doing, because I am not going to break that promise.'_

_'How is keeping yourself awake for a week being there for him?' John inquired. 'You can't be with him every second of every day. You'll kill yourself! And I refuse to sit by and watch you do that.'_

_'Dying is far better than the alternative!' Sherlock snapped, turning his head to fix a hateful glare on John. 'And I'm not going to give you much choice in this matter.'_

_'Dying is better than living?!' John screamed. 'What would make you say that? You say you're doing this for Ben. What about me and Felicity? How do you think we've been coping, or not, with all of this? And do you really expect Ben to be fine with you killing yourself to be with him during this double detox?'_

_'Ben has been helping me in case you didn't notice! And yes, dying is better than living because...' Sherlock took an angry breath. 'Because I'm not really living, am I? My memories, John. It all comes down to my memories. And I know that you are all suffering because of me but for once why can't I be selfish? Why can't I choose how to lead my own bloody life? I know what I'm doing and everything is under control so just leave me alone!'_

_'People get hurt! It's a part of life! You can't avoid it!' John protested. 'And yes, I know Ben has been helping you but you are his father. No son would stand idly by as their father slowly killed himself. Trust me when I say Ben is torn up inside over all this._

_'And what does not sleeping have to do with your memories? Do you honestly think that if you fall asleep you lose memories? Dementia doesn't work that way. You lose memories whether you sleep or not. It can't be prevented. You're going to lose memories either way. Your violin playing is proof of that.'_

_John's eyes widened when he realised what he'd just said. He clamped his mouth shut and swallowed harshly. No one insulted Sherlock's violin playing. It was probably the worst insult anyone could ever throw at him. And anyone who did never questioned it again after Sherlock was through with them. John could only hop he would be generous in his tongue lashing against him._

_'What the hell did you just say?' Sherlock asked. The question was sharp and filled with venom. 'How dare you,' he bit out, shoving his covers off of himself and leaping to his feet, suddenly feeling full of energy. His entire body twitched and shook as he stood, towering over his husband._

_'That is where I draw the line! You can lecture me on not sleeping, glare at me for not understanding, hate me for hurting Ben and Felicity and yourself emotionally, but you don't fucking bring my violin playing into this, understood?'_

_John paled as Sherlock stood over him but he held his ground. He stood up himself, trying to make himself look bigger but to no avail. Why did he have to be so goddamn short?_

_'Have you heard yourself play, lately?' he asked, knowing he was making a horrible mistake. 'You're skipping notes, you're out of tune, you play too fast or too slow. If I didn't know any better I'd say you're forgetting how to play. Or the sleep deprivation is affecting your playing ability.'_

_Sherlock lashed out, grabbing John's wrists in his larger hands. Tears shone in his eyes and he could feel himself falling off the edge. Anger was building in his chest, such a pure and soul eating anger._

_'Shut up,' he hissed. 'Just shut the fuck up!'_

_'No, Sherlock. You need to realise how much this is affecting you,' John said, trying to get rid of the edge to his voice. 'You're sick, you're detoxing, and you're sleep deprived. You aren't performing up to par, your mind is betraying you, you aren't yourself. I'm sorry love, but you're going to continue to forget whether you sleep or not. And now you're beginning to lose your most precious gift: your violin playing. And I'm so sorry because I know how important she is to you.'_

_'No, John! You don't understand!' He began to shake his husband like a rag doll. 'I can't fucking cope without my violin! I don't know how to!' The tears finally began to spill from his eyes. 'It is the only connection I have to Ben! Mycroft brought me her. She has helped me through so much emotional crap in my life and now I'm forgetting how to play her! So please don't give me that sympathetic bull.'_

_'I know how much she means to you,' John repeated, grasping Sherlock's arms as he tried to stop him shaking him so harshly. 'I really do. I know that you use her to cope, to work through emotions, to help you think. I know how much you love her and how much you need her. And I am so, so sorry that you are forgetting his to play her.'_

_'Stop saying that,' Sherlock begged. 'Stop saying that I'm forgetting. Stop saying you're sorry.'_

_'But it's the truth. I'm sorry, but it is.' John sighed and squeezed Sherlock's arms gently. 'You have dementia, Sherlock. It isn't something you can control. I don't know what made you think you could but you can't. I know you want to be here for Ben, but you need to take care of yourself too. Please, love. Don't be stupid about this.'_

_'I don't want to hear the truth, John,' Sherlock's voice cracked out. 'I want you to leave now. Please, just go.'_

_'No, Sherlock. I'm not leaving you,' John said forcefully. 'And you need to hear the truth because you need to accept that you are sick and there is nothing you can do to stop that.'_

_'Fine, I'll make you leave!' Sherlock shoved, pushed, and dragged John out of the bedroom and onto the landing. There was nothing his husband could do to fight him. 'I know I am sick! Now go! Leave me be!'_

_'I don't want to leave you alone!' John protested, trying to fight his husband's forceful shoving. 'I don't trust you alone with yourself. I'm afraid you're going to do something drastic. Now let me back in!' He tried to shove past Sherlock and back into their bedroom, but Sherlock shoved back harder. John had to grab hold of the railing to keep himself from falling down the stairs._

_'Drastic? So you've lost all faith in my sanity then?' Sherlock snarled, jumping forwards so he was inches away from John. 'You don't trust me?'_

_'I don't trust you with yourself,' John clarified, standing up straight. 'Especially since you've been consuming god knows how many energy drinks behind my back. Apparently I can't trust you to make sane decisions on your own. So, I won't be leaving you alone any time soon.'_

_'Fuck this! Fuck everything!' Sherlock grabbed John by the arms, clutching him so tightly he was leaving bruises on his skin. 'I just want to be alone!' He shoved his husband and let out a war cry._

_'Shit! Sherlock!' John cried in fear as he lost his footing and tumbled down the stairs. He slammed down on a hip, breaking it; landed rather awkwardly on his hands, breaking one of his wrists; and finally landed face down at the bottom, cracking some of his ribs. He groaned, assessing the damage, a choked sob escaping when he tried to move. Brittle bones and a fall did not mix well._

_'Sherlock,' he coughed out weakly, blood spilling from his mouth and onto the floor. Sherlock stood frozen on top of the stairs. All the anger had disappeared from his system now, replaced by shock._

_'Oh god,' he gasped. 'John?' More tears were running down his face now, but not out of fury. 'What have I done?'_

_John coughed up more blood, unable to speak as it hurt too much. Sherlock rushed down the stairs to where John had fallen and dropped to his knees beside him._

_'What do I do now?' he choked. 'What the hell do I do now?'_

_'Hospital,' John choked out. 'Bones... broken.' He coughed violently, shaking as it upset his cracked ribs. 'Hurry.'_

_Sherlock legged it back up the stairs, threw himself through the bedroom door and fetched his phone, phoning for an ambulance without hesitation. His voice shook along with his body and the woman on the other end of the phone said the ambulance was approximately ten minutes away which, right now, seemed a long time away._

_He hurried back to John's side. 'Help's coming,' he blurted out before finally allowing himself to sob freely. 'I'm sorry, god, I'm sorry.'_

_'Dad?' Felicity turned the corner, concern written all over her face. 'Is everything ok? I heard these loud bangs–' She finally saw John laying on the floor and let out a shriek._

_'Oh my god! What happened? Is he ok? Did you call an ambulance?' Her fearful eyes met Sherlock's tear-filled one and she burst into tears as well, fearing the worst._

_Sherlock's throat constricted. 'Yes. I, er, called an ambulance.' He stood to his feet suddenly. 'Look after your dad. I have to–' He didn't bother finishing his sentence. Instead he did a rare thing. He ran away._

_He didn't stop running until he was locked in his and John's bedroom._

_'Ok,' Felicity whispered as Sherlock ran to his room. 'It's going to be ok, Daddy,' she said to John. She ran her fingers through his hair. 'I'll watch over you. That's what princesses do.'_

_'Thanks,' John choked out. 'Sherlock?'_

_'Went upstairs,' she said softly. 'I'll make sure he rides in the ambulance with you.'_

_'Ok,' John croaked out, coughing up more blood. Felicity tried to hold back her tears, needing to be strong for her dad now. Where was the damn ambulance?_

_What had he done? What the hell had he done?!_

_He'd done what he'd always feared he would do. He had physically hurt his husband._

_Who knew who he would turn on next? Ben? Felicity? Or god forbid his little nephew, Mark._

_He shuddered as guilt consumed him, like a black hole gobbling him up._

_He was a complete idiot! He should have allowed Mycroft to take him away! Should have bloody insisted on it. Then none of this would have happened._

_He would have cleaned up. He wouldn't have participated in this stupid experiment._

_This had to stop. All of this._

_He had to put his family out of their misery._

_Opening up the drawer by their bed he found the perfect solution._

_A gun. John's gun._

_He thought of his husband lying at the bottom of the stairs, bloody and broken._

_That was the only image he needed before he made a decision._

_He picked up the gun in trembling hands and placed it on the bed._

_He glanced over to his mobile phone and picked that up too._

_If he was going to go through with this plan he needed to tell his family why. They had a right to a goodbye._

_To Mycroft:_

_**Dearest brother, my worst fears have finally come true. I guess this has been coming a long time now but I'm going to say it anyway. Goodbye. -SH**_

_To John:_

_**I can never forgive myself for what I've done to you and the children. But I can give you all a chance of having a bit of happiness at least. I love you, my dearest blogger. That is why I have to go. It is why I am leaving you. -SH**_

_To Felicity:_

_**Farewell, Princess. It's been good, hasn't it? But now it is time for me to take my leave. I'll be ok. Who knows? Death may bring me some much wanted peace. I am proud of you. Do good with your life. -SH**_

_To Benedict:_

_**Ah Benny, last but not least. I want you to know that this isn't me abandoning you. This is me setting you free. I have only brought you pain. Promise me something? Stay clean, for me? I want you to have my violin too. She needs someone who will love her. Farewell. May we meet in another life. -SH**_

_Felicity's mobile went off. Maybe it was Ben, asking what had happened. She pulled it out of her pocket and saw, much to her surprise, it was from Sherlock._

_Her jaw dropped when she read the message._

_Ben burst out of his room then, his eyes wide with fear._

_'Did you–?' He didn't even have to finish when he saw Felicity's face. Without saying a word they both dashed upstairs, screaming Sherlock's name._

_'Dad! Dad! Don't do this!' Felicity cried, tears streaming down her face. She tried to open the door but it was locked, so she resorted to pounding on it with her palms. Ben was trying to kick it down but he only ended up with a sore leg._

_'Dad! Dad!' he cried, slamming his fists against the door until his hands bled. 'Don't! Please don't!'_

_Their cries were in vain when they heard the safety turn off. A gun? Where did he get that? They both made the connection just as the gun went off, the sickening splatter of bodily tissue hitting the wall followed._

_The last thing Sherlock had heard was his children's screams, begging him not to do it, not to leave them._

_It was too late._

_The gun was pressed between his lips and his finger was already on the trigger._

_He said a silent farewell to the world and pulled it. A loud, shrill sound boomed out._

_Then everything ended._

_His world was black as ink, his brain splattered the walls. His family was safe now. He was dead._

* * *

I'm really sorry about the ending. It's really dark and depressing, and I hope we didn't majorly upset anyone. Sherlock will wake up next week, so there's that at least. Though it won't necessarily be a happy reunion. College starts for me in three weeks and I move in in seventeen days. I got some organising done and even made a list of all that I'm bringing! Yay me! And I've been talking with my roommates on Facebook since Wednesday and they're both Potterheads and Sherlockians and one is a Whovian and we'll be converting the other one as well. They're like the best roommates ever right now ;)

See you all next week, though it may be posted a tad late again. Happy Red Pants Monday!

TSA + IB


	26. Welcome Back

Hello all! Apologies for the late update. I've been busy shopping for college and completing some online homework.

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock, Greg

Me: John, Mycroft, Violet Holmes, Dr Mary Morstan

_Warnings for this chapter: angst, Sherlock being a lying bastard, mother-son feels, and Sherlock trying to protect his heart and John's_

* * *

Chapter 26 – Welcome Back

John stuttered awake, something urgent rousing him from his slumber. Sherlock's heart monitor. It was beeping like crazy and his body was thrashing in the sheets. John rushed to his side, grabbing his shoulders and pinning him down.

'It's alright, Sherlock,' he said to the comatose form. 'It's alright. I'm here. It's ok now.'

Sherlock could hear John's voice breaking through the veils of death. He let out a sob. Was this his punishment in hell? To hear his husband's voice speak to him so tenderly as though nothing had happened? To make him feel his guilt every moment he was here?

'I'm sorry!' he cried. 'John, forgive me! I didn't mean– Didn't mean to–'

John gasped and tears gathered in his eyes. Was he waking up? God it felt good to hear his voice again.

'Sherlock? Sherlock, it's ok now. Everything will be alright, I promise.' He pushed the nurse's call button and continued to speak soothing words to his lover. 'It's gonna be ok, love. It's alright. The nurse will help you and explain what happened.'

Sherlock's eyes flickered open. Just the fact that he had eyes to open in the first place confused him beyond belief. Wasn't he dead? Hadn't the bullet shot up into his skull?

John cried in relief. Thank god! He was awake! The nurse arrived then, smiling at the sight of Sherlock having regained consciousness.

'Hey there mate. Remember me?' Rory asked, smiling warmly down at the very confused Sherlock. 'Gave us quite a scare there. But we're glad to finally see you awake. I should let your brother know. He'll have me sacked if I don't.'

John handed Rory his mobile, staring down at Sherlock with watery eyes.

'Hi, love,' he croaked out. 'I missed you.' He ran his fingers through Sherlock's significantly longer curls, wishing he had been allowed to trim them. His hair was too long now, he didn't like it, and he wanted it back to the length he was used to. But now was not the time for selfish grievances. Now was the time for being there for a soon-to-be shocked and confused and possibly violent Sherlock.

Everything was so god damn bright. He couldn't see anything. Everything was a horrible bright blur of white. When his eyes had adjusted to the harsh light his breath hitched. John was hovering over him, completely unharmed, stroking his hair.

'J-ohn?' his voice stumbled, struggling to piece the name together. Was it really him? Was John ok? What was going on?

'Hi, love,' John smiled, tears of relief and joy falling down his cheeks. 'God, it's good to hear your voice again.'

'Wha–?' Why was John smiling? What the hell was there to smile about?

'I'll explain everything when you're more coherent,' John said, reading the confusion on Sherlock's face plain as day.

'He's on his way,' Rory said, handing John his mobile back. 'Hey there, mate,' he said to Sherlock. 'Welcome back.'

Sherlock wrinkled up his nose. 'Am I dead?' he choked out. God he hoped so. But then why was John here too? Horror sped through Sherlock's entire system. Was John dead too? Had the fall done more than cause him a few broken bones?

'No, love, you aren't dead,' John said gently. 'You've been in a coma. For quite some time too.'

'Coma?' Sherlock breathed as though the word was completely foreign to him.

'Yeah. You know. Comatose,' John explained gently, still petting Sherlock's hair soothingly. 'You've been lost in your head for a good...' He paused. How long had it been? He looked at the date on his phone. Wow. Almost to the day.

'You've been in a coma for four months,' John said softly.

'Four?' Sherlock gulped, still completely dumbfounded.

'I'm afraid so,' John nodded. 'It was touch and go there for a while. Where it seemed like you wouldn't wake up. But I never lost faith. Because I know how strong your mind is. If anyone were to fight their way out of a coma it would be you.' He gingerly clasped one of Sherlock's hands in his, rubbing soothing circles on the back of it with his thumb.

'Your mother was very supportive,' he continued. 'If I seemed to be losing faith for even a second, she would set me straight. You have a wonderful, loving, very caring mother. You should consider yourself lucky to have her. She is a brilliant, wonderful woman.'

Sherlock tugged his hand away, the fear of touching John still running through him like wildfire.

'Where is my mother? Has she gone back home?' he asked, trying to make conversation despite his inner panic.

So it hadn't been real? Benny? Felicity? Marrying John? Moving into that big house? Hurting John?

None of it had.

He wasn't sure if that made him sorrowful or relieved.

John was hurt when Sherlock pulled away so quickly. Maybe he was still confused. He needed to give him time to recuperate.

'Your mother is in the café right now,' John said softly. 'She needed some food. She was almost pulling a you. She hadn't eaten in a couple days and her blood sugar was drastically low. So, I had a nurse take her to go get some food. She should be back soon.'

Sherlock nodded, frowning. 'Right... Thank you. My mother can be quite stubborn.'

'She's a wonderful woman,' John smiled softly. 'I know I said that already, but she really is.'

Mycroft burst into the room then, looking very much like a bat out of hell. He was panting, his suit looking like it had been work for days in a row, and his eyes were frantic.

'You're awake,' he gasped. 'Oh my god, you're awake! You're alive!' He rushed to Sherlock's side and, without thinking about what he was doing, wrapped his arms around his little brother in a tender hug.

Sherlock froze in the hug. He was still confused by what was going on and being wrapped up in Mycroft's arms didn't help. Then, of course, his fears of hurting his family were at the very tip of his mind. What if he hurt Mycroft? With that terrifying thought he pushed his brother away. He didn't want to hurt him. No. Not Mycroft.

Mycroft stumbled back, hurt tremendously. He knew he and Sherlock were never ones for sentiment, but he thought maybe just this once they could make an exception.

Apparently he was wrong.

He straightened up, smoothing out his suit and lifting his chin in a semblance of being back in his natural state of order.

'Well, it's good to see you awake,' he managed to say.

John just stared, dumbfounded. He had never seen Mycroft show such a high level of emotion before. And Sherlock rejecting him had him reverting back to his old ways. John frowned but didn't say anything.

Sherlock proceeded to say something that broke his brother.

'Anyone would think you care.'

That one sentence was laced with far more coldness and anger than Sherlock had meant it to. He supposed it was because, even if what had happened in his mind hadn't been real, Mycroft had failed him. Failed to keep his family safe. And for that he resented him.

Which of course was ridiculous but it was true.

Mycroft swallowed, his unfeeling façade falling. His brother had said a lot of scathing words to him over the years, but none of them had hurt. But those? Those five words? Those hurt.

'Yes, well.' He swallowed, straightening up again. 'Just goes to show that caring is still a disadvantage. Brother, it is good to see you awake. I hope you have a full and speedy recovery.' He turned on his heel and opened the door, turning back to nod curtly at John.

'John,' he said in goodbye, taking his leave and closing the door behind him.

Sherlock's heart twinged and for a moment he felt guilty. That didn't last long. 'Caring is a disadvantage,' he sighed. 'A disadvantage indeed.'

'What?' John asked, appalled he could even still think that. 'No it's not. Caring about someone means you're willing to do anything for that person. Lay down your life for that person if you cared enough. It isn't a feeling that puts you at a disadvantage.' He grabbed Sherlock's hand again, gripping tight. 'It makes you strong.'

Sherlock once again tugged his hand free from John's grip. 'It really doesn't. It is a disadvantage.'

How did he explain to John that he had cared for him deeply in his dream, and in said dream had all but pushed him down the stairs? How did he explain how hurt he was feeling because his children and his nephew weren't real? He had cared for them.

It was like they were dead.

'What now, doctor? Are you going to cry? Not much good this caring lark,' he snapped.

John sighed forcefully through his nose, holding back the tears Sherlock had seen forming. What had happened during those four months he was in a coma? Could he remember anything? Not just about what had happened while he was in a coma, but about their lives together. What did he remember?

He swallowed thickly and sat up straight, defensive soldier mode activated. 'No, Sherlock, I'm not going to cry. I'm concerned is all. And, I was just wondering, those four months you were in a coma... What can you remember? About anything? Did you dream at all? Did your memories come back? Anything?'

Sherlock swallowed, angry at the emotions building up within him. 'That, Doctor Watson, is none of your business.'

God he felt horrible. He was hurting John all over again.

_At least it's emotional, not physical.  
_  
He wasn't prepared to hurt John physically. He wasn't going to stand by and watch him get bloodied and broken by his hands. He would cut him from his life if he had to. He just wouldn't risk hurting John in such a way.

John steeled his jaw, letting Sherlock's words roll over him.

_He has just come out of a coma. He is confused and traumatised. He needs time to heal and adjust. Give him that time.  
_  
John sighed loudly again and nodded. 'Ok. That's fine. I was just hoping you remembered us is all.'

Sherlock laughed ridiculously loud though there was nothing in the slightest funny 'Us. Oh yes. I remember us.'

John blushed although there was no reason to. It was only Sherlock; he shouldn't be embarrassed. He should be ecstatic he remembered, he should be crying with relief, bouncing off the walls.

So why was he doing the exact opposite?

'Good,' he managed to say after clearing his throat rather loudly. 'Good. That's, um, good.'

_Yes, I remember us, John._

I remember all the pain and suffering I have put you through. Both in the dream my mind twisted from my memories and in real life. And I cannot do that anymore. No. Look at you, John. Look at how much weight you've lost. You're like a bloody skeleton. You haven't been eating properly then. Why? Because you've been too busy watching over me. That only affirms that I bring you more harm than good. You've got bags under your eyes. Not sleeping then. You lost sleep over me? Enough. This is too much. I can't watch as you do this to yourself because of me. No.

Sherlock licked his lips and turned his eyes away from, John. 'I remember the little experiment I was trying out on you.'

John licked his lips and looked up, his eyes wide. With fear or hurt he wasn't certain.

'Experiment?' he asked in a small voice.

'Yes, John. An experiment,' Sherlock scoffed. 'For science and nothing more.'

'God dammit, Sherlock,' John sighed loudly. 'You know how I feel about you experimenting on me without my express permission. What was is this time and did you at least gather some quantifiable data from it?'

'Yes, I suppose I did,' Sherlock replied sharply. 'And the experiment was you. You, John.'

'Yes, I realise I was the experiment,' John sighed. 'What I want to know is–' He paused, things clicking into place in his brain. 'Wait. You mean, you didn't experiment _on_ me, but I _myself_ was the experiment? What was the experiment, if I may be privy to know?'

'Yes, John! That's exactly what I mean! Perhaps you're not such an idiot after all.' He very nearly flinched at his words. They sounded like venom. 'I was experimenting what it was like to be involved in a physical relationship in order to understand one of the possible motives for murder in greater depth.'

John's heart plummeted. It had been an experiment? All of it? Had anything been real?

'Wait. Let me get this straight.' John was surprised at how level his voice was. 'You let me take your virginity, kiss you, profess my love for you, and open up my heart to you... all for a bloody _experiment?_'

Now he was fuming.

'You do realise it is more than a bit not good to mess with people's feelings like that, right? Because all those feelings and thoughts and actions? They were _real_ for me. I _do_ love you, I _do_ care about you, and you claim everything you said was for an _experiment?_' He let out a loud, delirious laugh.

'I don't believe you. I don't. No one can fake that level of emotion for very long before they start to think it's real too. And _you_, Mr Emotional Range of a Teaspoon, expect me to believe that everything we did was for an _experiment?_ Ha!'

'I think you'll find I am a man of many faces, John. It was an act. All of it. Just an act. I needed to know what emotions a human being feels after participating in such sexual acts together. You were the test subject.'

Lies all lies. All of this was one big lie. He loved John. He'd felt things that he couldn't even describe for the army doctor. He cared about him on a deep, emotional level. He supposed that's why he was doing this. Why he was pushing John away. Because he cared.

'And you have proven yourself to be very useful. For example, I see you have mistaken sexual acts as love. I guess that's where you are wrong. How are you feeling now? Angry? Used? Upset? Tell me. I need to know.'

John clenched his jaw shut tightly. He wasn't going to answer that. He refused. Sherlock was lying. Why was he lying? How could he lie about all they had and claim it wasn't real? How?

_You want to know how I feel? I feel used, abused, and betrayed. I trusted you, Sherlock. I trusted you with all my heart and soul and you took that trust and threw it in the dirt, stomping on it for good measure. I still refuse to believe that everything was a lie. I refuse to believe that you could manipulate me for that long without me noticing. I would have noticed. I would have. I should have. But we were so happy. So very happy. And you agreed to marry me! I had it all planned out too. Fuck._

The ring he had picked out a few weeks ago was burning a hole in his pocket now. He felt like an idiot. He felt betrayed. But most of all he felt like his world was crumbling down around him and he didn't know what was real anymore.

'You're lying,' he grit out. 'I know you are. I know it. I refuse to believe that you would manipulate me for weeks just to gather data about motives for murders of passion. No. No.'

'Am I lying? Or am I telling the truth for the first time in a very long time?' Sherlock cocked his head to one side on his pillow. 'I used you. I knew you had a big heart so you would be a willing subject and would give me some reliable data. I should have seen that you were going to fall for me. I'm sorry. I was unaware of how deep your feelings really went.'

'You liar,' John growled. 'You're a fucking liar. I don't believe you. No. You're lying for a purpose. What is it? Are you trying to protect me from something? Someone? What? Tell me!'

'You aren't a child, John. Why on Earth would I bother protecting you?'

Sherlock's heart was feeling heavier and heavier in his chest by the minute. He was still filled with rage and confusion and hurt. Self hatred bubbled beneath his surface. He was feeling something that could only be described as grief. He was grieving for his children, for his nephew, for his non-perfect but perfect life. He just knew one thing: be wasn't safe and he wasn't the good man John believed him to be. The less he cared for his lov–flatmate the less danger he would be in.

'You would protect me because you love me!' John cried. 'Yes, I am perfectly capable of defending myself, and so are you, but we've fought for each other's protection on numerous occasions. Why? Because that's what people do when they care for one another. They fight the battles not truly worth fighting because they care about the person they are fighting for.'

His throat was choking on his unshed tears and emotions. He swallowed audibly before moving quickly, sealing his lips to Sherlock's in a deep and passionate kiss. He heard Sherlock's heart monitor soar, his heartbeat skyrocketing. He released him after a full minute.

'Now try to tell me that you didn't feel something during that,' he panted, a few stray tears falling down his cheeks. 'Try and explain your heart beating so erratically at my touch. Go ahead. Try to lie that one off.'

Sherlock raised a finger to his lips fir a brief second, tracing where John's own lips had been melded to them. He gave John a calculated look.

'Years without any sexual activity and then you come along and assault my body? Of course my heart's going to speed up. Besides, what I do feel is nothing more than a slight sexual attraction to you. I do not love you.'

Of course what he was really thinking was: Kiss me again, John. Now! Make my emotions melt away into nothing but the simple love I have for you.

'"A slight sexual attraction?" Is that what that is?' John pointed to the very prominent tent forming in Sherlock's sheets. 'Because I don't think a reaction that strong would come from a "slight sexual attraction." And don't give me that "years without any sexual activity" bullshit. Your body may not be experienced, but your mind is. And you still want me and care for me, maybe even love me. And nothing you say or do will ever change my feelings for you.'

Sherlock cursed his bodily functions and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. 'I have always been a man of addiction, John. And currently my body is craving you. My body. Not my mind. Can't you see there was nothing but sex between us? Meaningless sex. Not love.'

'Meaningless? Meaningless?' John's jaw dropped before he clamped it back shut with a snap. 'Losing your virginity was meaningless? Taking mine was meaningless? How could you say that? What is going on? This isn't right, isn't you. Please, love, tell me what's going on.'

'It was all for science, John. As I have told you if you were listening. Now stop calling me love. The experiment has run its course. There is no need to keep up the facade.' Sherlock was swallowing down screams now. He wanted to scream that he was sorry, that he didn't mean it, but the damage was clearly already done.

'You know what? You may claim that you don't love me, but I still refuse to believe that,' John choked out. 'And you're trying to push me away. Even I can see that. I'm not blind nor stupid. You care about me, you love me, but if you're going to be a dick about it then fine.' He fished the ring out of his pocket and dropped it onto Sherlock's bed, just within reach of his fingers.

'Think about that while I get some air. And I'll be coming back. You won't be getting rid of me that easy.' He stormed out of the room and to the elevator, taking it down to the basement where the cafeteria was. Mrs Holmes was there, waiting.

'Oh. Hello dear,' she smiled warmly. 'Oh my. You look a bit ruffled. Is everything alright?'

'Sherlock's awake,' was all John managed to say before stalking off for a cup of coffee and a banana. Violet's jaw dropped and hurried into the elevator before it closed, taking it up to her son's floor.

Her son was awake. Her son was awake and alive.

Greg had been looking for Mycroft all morning, but it seemed the man had disappeared into thin air. He had left the hospital till last to look for his love, seeing as Mycroft was finding it increasingly difficult to be around his comatose brother. In all honesty, Greg didn't blame him. As horrible as it sounded, Sherlock had become a terrible sight to look upon. He'd lost weight from being bed bound for four months, he was an even more sickly pale colour than usual, and although a coma was effectively a deep sleep the poor detective looked a world away from being peaceful, as he should have been.

He headed to the cafeteria first, knowing Mycroft's belly had probably bullied the man into stress eating once more.

He didn't find Mycroft there however. He did, on the other hand, find John. And he looked... devastated.

Oh god. What had happened? Had Sherlock's condition worsened?

John scowled down at his banana, his hands wrapped around his coffee cup tightly. He'd made the mistake of accidentally crushing the last cup too tightly, spilling coffee all over the floor as his shoes.

Why would Sherlock say those awful things? He was lying, he had to be. It wasn't an experiment. John knew in his heart it wasn't. It had been too real and spontaneous to be an experiment. No scientist would conduct an experiment so randomly. The variables would be all over the place. It couldn't possibly be consistent.

He heard a soft cough come from beside him and he looked up. Greg was standing there, a concerned look on his face.

'Oh. Hey, Greg,' John mumbled.

'God mate, you look like death.' Greg took a seat opposite his friend. 'Is it Sherlock? What's happened?'

'He woke up,' John answered simply.

'Then why do you look like you've been chewing on lemons?' Greg questioned. 'It's good that he's woken up, right? Wait– When did this happen? My didn't say anything to me.'

'I don't know, maybe a half hour ago?' John shrugged. 'And he told Mycroft off, much to my surprise. And yeah, I should be happy that he's awake, and I am, but I'm not as happy as I should be.' He looked up at Greg with morose eyes.

'He's different, Greg,' he said softly. 'Something happened while he was in a coma. Something bad. I know that has to be it, because I wouldn't be able to bear with the alternative. Because, according to him...' He swallowed thickly, dropping his head.

'He says none of it was real,' he choked out. 'Says everything we did, everything we said, everything we shared was for an experiment. To gather information about motives for murders of passion. And I know that isn't true. It can't be. It just can't. He says he doesn't love me, Greg. He says he never did. It was all for science. And I... I...'

His sobs broke free then. The tears he didn't allow himself to cry in front of Sherlock fell from his eyes, running down his cheeks like two tiny waterfalls. He buried his face in his arms, hunched over the table, sobbing loudly. He didn't care who heard him, it was a hospital cafeteria. A lot of people cried here. He wasn't the first and he certainly wouldn't be the last.

'He what?!' Greg felt outraged. John shouldn't have had such a bomb thrown on him, not after four months of hell. 'He's an idiot, John.' Lestrade reached forward and squeezed John's shoulder. The poor man was an emotional wreck.

'I don't think he's telling the truth. I think you're right. Something happened to him. Who knows what's been going on in that mind of his over these four months? He is Sherlock after all. He's probably scared witless. But that doesn't give him a right to say what he has.

'What you just said about Mycroft only affirms that. Their relationship was better than it ever had been before he went into a coma, right?'

John merely nodded, his sobs quieting. He still didn't trust his voice though.

'Told him off. Told me off,' he choked out. 'Were we in the dream? Did we hurt him? Did he hurt us?'

'I wish I could answer that but I can't. Just give him some time. I'm sure he'll come around.' Greg gave John's shoulder one more light squeeze before releasing it.

'Think about how this has been affecting us. You've barely slept or eaten. Whereas Mycroft has been doing the opposite. I don't know if you've noticed but he put on quite a bit, and that's probably putting it lightly. He doesn't do much these days. He mainly curls up in a ball under his duvet covers and refuses to come outside and eats - a hell of a lot - and then eats some more. I've started up smoking again. I don't know why, but this whole thing has kinda hit me hard too. But none of that, none of that can possibly compare to what he must have been through. Trapped inside your own mind for four months. God knows what that does to a person.'

'That's what has me worried,' John mumbled into his arms. 'What happened in there that would cause him so much stress and grief? He's actually grieving, Greg. Over whom, I don't know. I thought coma dreams were supposed to be pleasant and perfect. But, then again, this is Sherlock we're talking about. His perfect would probably be murders galore.'

Greg laughed lightly. 'Murders, and a world where Anderson doesn't exist. Yes, that would be Sherlock's perfect.

'But from what I'm gathering, that isn't what happened at all.' The silver haired man exhaled. 'You're just gonna have to be patient with him.'

'I'm trying, Greg. Believe me, I'm trying,' John sighed. He lifted his head off the table and wiped his face clear of tears. 'But it's hard when he doesn't want me to touch him, doesn't accept my love. I gave him the ring and he didn't even flinch. God.' He ran a hand down his face and sighed loudly.

'I wish I could help him, but he'll probably need a therapist. Both mental and physical. After four months his muscles of atrophied and he's gonna need to get his strength back.'

'He's probably just on the defensive because his body has started to waste away. You know how Sherlock is. Vain as ever. Probably conscious that he looks akin to a warmed over corpse right now. Just needs time to adjust and find his feet.'

At that precise moment there was a sharp ping. It was Greg's mobile. He fished for it in his jacket pocket and pulled it out. He frowned and let out a loud sigh as a result of the text. It had been from Anthea about Mycroft, and it wasn't good news that she was reporting back to him.

'Oh, Mycroft,' he whispered.

'What? What's happened?' John was suddenly on alert. If Sherlock's words could affect him so badly he could only imagine how they would affect his brother.

'It's Anthea. She found Mycroft,' Greg replied miserably, running a hand through his hair.

'Wait. Found him?' John asked, beyond worried now. 'Where the hell did he go?'

'God knows where he has been but she found him–' Greg took a deep breath. 'Knelt by the toilet in his flat puking his guts up after practically gorging on the entire contents of his kitchen.' He shrugged. 'Not an uncommon thing to happen of late but still.' Greg's lower lip trembled. 'I'm really worried about him.'

'Oh my god. Is he going to be ok?' John asked, reaching a hand out to take one of Greg's. 'I knew he had been over eating but I didn't know it was that bad.'

Greg snorted. 'Mycroft hasn't been okay since this whole thing started.'

'None of us have,' John mumbled. 'You should go to him. He needs you right now. A lot more than I do. Go. I'll be fine.'

'I can't be around him right now. I've tried to get him to stop but he still insists on stuffing himself silly until his stomach can't hold its contents anymore. He's closed off, won't talk, at least not to me. His father's still on the loose and I think he's terrified. He just isn't the man I know. And that scares me.' A single tear drop fell from his eye. 'He won't even sleep in the same bed as me anymore.'

'He's scared and worried,' John said softly, squeezing Greg's hand. 'He probably isn't used to those feelings. And with Sherlock having been in a coma and their father on the loose, he's stressed and frayed beyond belief. I still think you should go to him, no matter what he says. He needs you, that much is evident. He needs someone to stand behind him during all this, and I'm pretty sure he wants that person to be you. He loves you, Greg. He does. Don't let him pull the "I'm distancing myself from you to protect you" bullshit. Go to him, stand your ground, show him that you're going to be there for him and help him and support him no matter what. Because he needs you, now more than ever.'

'Are you talking about me and My, or yourself and Sherlock?' Greg asked, wiping at his tear-filled eyes to stop more from running free. 'Because it's good advice. You gonna follow it yourself?'

'Huh. I never made the connection, but it does work for my situation.' John raised his eyebrows and nodded. 'Yeah. I'll follow my own advice if you follow it to. We'll go to our respective Holmes boys and show them that they won't be losing us so easily. We're here for good; they're stuck with us.' John smiled softly and squeezed Greg's hand again.

'Thanks for this, John,' Greg said, sounding entirely awkward, removing his hand from John's and getting to his feet. 'I forgot how nice it is to talk to someone who isn't a Holmes.'

'I wish I could remember what it's like to talk to a Holmes,' John frowned. 'Sorry. Let's not go there. You're quite welcome for the talk, Greg. We should definitely try to do the Wednesday night pub talks again. Maybe now that Sherlock's awake I'll have more to talk about.'

He stood to his feet and bid Greg goodbye, striding with purpose over to the elevators. He was going to make Sherlock listen to him. He was going to talk, Sherlock was going to listen, and everything was going to be okay.

He hoped.

Sherlock had been thumbing the ring John had placed on the hospital bed, crying silent tears. That's how his mother found him.

He'd been crying because in his dream, he'd married John. He'd been crying because this only made his fears seem more likely. This was too close to his dream. Too close. If he married John it would become true. Maybe not to the last detail but he was certain of one constant. If he married John he would only end up hurting him.

He was also crying because he had given up on finding someone to love him so much as a child. Crying because he loved John just as strongly back and wanted nothing more than to spend the rest of his life with him. Crying because he knew that he wouldn't.

And then when he saw his mother, both alive and well, he cried some more. This time his crying wasn't silent. It was loud and pathetic, and child like.

All Violet Holmes could do was hug her son tightly and offer words of what she hoped was comfort.

'Shhh. It's okay now, honey. Shhh,' she soothed her son. She wrapped her arms around him gingerly, sitting next to him on his bed. She began petting his hair, continuing to shush him soothingly.

'No!' he sobbed. 'No, it's not okay!'

'Why not, sweetie?' she asked softly.

Sherlock clasped the ring John had tossed at him and pushed it into his mother's hands. 'This is why not.'

Violet gasped at the sight of the ring.

'Oh, honey! This is wonderful!' she grinned widely. 'Why are you upset by this? He loves you and wants to spend the rest of his life with you. Why are you distressed?'

'Because I can't spend the rest of my life with him,' Sherlock stated bluntly. 'He'll get hurt.'

'Sweetie, everyone gets hurt,' Violet said gently. 'You can't prevent it. Why can't you marry him? You love him, don't you?'

Sherlock nodded, sniffling and biting back more tears whilst clinging onto his mother for dear life. 'I do. Which is exactly why I have to let him go.'

'Honey, that is an incredibly stupid reason to leave someone,' Violet scolded him gently. 'You're afraid of hurting him? Trust me when I say you rejecting his proposal will hurt him more than any physical pain you could ever inflict.'

'You're wrong,' he told his mother, something that was rarely told to Violet Holmes. 'I am being merciful by letting him go.'

'Take a good hard look at your John after you reject him,' Violet said sternly. 'And then you come find me and look me in the eye and tell me that was the merciful thing to do. Because a rejection like that is like a punch to the gut, and the look on his face will kill you.'

'He isn't my John. I made sure he knows that,' Sherlock sighed tiredly. 'And it really doesn't matter if this kills me. At least he is safe.'

Violet slapped a perfectly manicured hand across her son's cheek.

'Now you listen to me, Sherlock Holmes,' she hissed. 'You do not, I repeat, do not ever say or think that you would be better off dead instead of hurting the people you love. And you already rejected him? I did not raise an idiot for a son. You fix this. You fix this right now or I swear to god I'll do it myself.'

'No mother, you didn't raise an idiot of a son!' Sherlock snapped. 'You were barely in the picture to raise me! And you have no right to tell me how to lead my life.'

iHelp me mummy. Please help me. I'm drowning. Can't you see? I don't know what to do./i

'Sherlock, you might not remember, but I was the one who stopped your father from killing you every night,' Violet hissed. 'Every night I would offer myself in your place. I would risk my own life to protect you. You were just a boy, I was stronger than you, and I did what a mother is supposed to do to protect her family.

'Now, I can see how much you're hurting. I can see the pain in your eyes. They're haunted. What's going on in that head of yours?'

Sherlock's lower lip trembled. 'I don't know how to explain it. It's ridiculous what I'm feeling. Utterly ridiculous.'

'You can tell me,' Violet whispered softly. 'It's ok. Tell Mummy what's on your mind.'

'I dreamed up a whole life for myself, mother,' Sherlock's voice quavered.

'Was it a nice life?' Violet inquired.

'Define "nice,"' Sherlock whispered.

'Well, for starters, was John there?'

Sherlock smiled weakly before frowning. 'Yes. Yes he was.'

'Ok. Good,' she smiled. 'Were you together and happy?'

'We were together but we were far from happy,' Sherlock shuddered. The fake memory of himself and John having that brutal argument that had ended with John falling down the stairs into a broken heap whilst Sherlock had retreated to their room to kill himself ran through his mind.

'Oh honey,' Violet sighed. She began petting his hair again. 'What happened?'

'We had this little life together. It was great! We got married and had our honeymoon.' He blushed a little as he recalled his large member. Its sudden growth spurt suddenly made sense. He continued, leaving that bit out for his mother's sake. 'But then I forgot. I missed fifteen years of our married life together and things only went downhill from there.'

'You forgot?' Violet twirled her fingers through Sherlock's curls. 'What happened after those fifteen years?'

'John and I both had our own biological child. John had a daughter, Felicity, my little princess. I had a son, Benny, an exact replica of myself.' A small smile wiggled across his features. 'And since I didn't remember them I wandered into the kitchen naked. John wasn't very pleased about that, as you can probably imagine. Especially because the children so happened to be in the kitchen at that time.'

Violet smiled at the thought of having grandchildren.

'They sound lovely,' she said softly. 'And yes, I can imagine the shock on their faces when you walked in. What happened then?'

'Mycroft caught wind of what had gone on. He was angry, furious even. But that wasn't his fault. He couldn't help but have–' Sherlock paused. Should he say anything? He didn't want to upset his mother. In the end he decided to tell her. It was just a dream after all. A terrifyingly realistic dream.

'I dreamt he had bipolar disorder like father.' He shrugged. 'Point is, he was angry, and then when he found out about my memory loss he came and apologised to me, after a punch from John that is. When we were discussing my memory loss he let something slip. He said that I was his only family.' He paused again, waiting for his mother to catch on.

Violet had begun rubbing soothing circles on her son's back, only pausing when he said that only he and Mycroft were left in his dream.

'I was gone,' she said bluntly.

More tears swelled in Sherlock's eyes and he nodded. 'I didn't even get to say goodbye.'

'It was only a coma dream,' she said softly, running her fingers through his long hair. 'I'm still alive. I'm not going anywhere any time soon. And if I do, I promise to hold on long enough for you to say goodbye. Ok, sweetie?' She placed a gentle kiss to the top of his head and held him close.

'Mummy,' Sherlock whispered, a sob breaking out of his throat. 'I never want to say goodbye.'

'I know you don't, sweetie,' Violet whispered. 'I know. And I don't want to have to say goodbye to you either.'

'I–' Sherlock gulped, trying to compose himself. 'The dream gets worse.'

'Oh? How so?' Violet asked softly. She held her son against her tightly, massaging his scalp gently.

'I began skipping more and more time. So many memories were stolen from me mother. So many.' Sherlock's weak and tired body shook in his mother's arms. 'I became depressed, distant, and I began to develop an alcohol problem. I was so lost, so confused, and everyone around me was hurting because of it.'

Violet rested her cheek on her son's head, continuing her ministrations on his head. She hummed, letting Sherlock know to continue.

'I begged Mycroft to take me away, but John wouldn't allow him. He thought that if I went away to get help I wasn't going to come back. I might not have, but I still would have gotten help. Instead, I became dependent on alcohol. I couldn't live without it.'

'Did you try to clean up?' Violet asked softly.

'Yes.' Sherlock bit his lip. 'You see, my son, Benny, he was going through an addiction of his own. We promised each other we would clean up side by side.'

'Good for you two,' Violet smiled gently. 'How did it go?'

'It went ok. I didn't touch another drop of alcohol. And Benny didn't get a fix. It was hard, as withdrawals are, but I made it harder on myself.' Sherlock took a shuddering breath. 'I came up with an idiotic plan you see. To stop my memory loss so I would be able to support my son more thoroughly.'

'You can't prevent memory loss, but perhaps in a dream...' Violet trailed off. 'What did you come up with?'

'I planned to not sleep. I thought that maybe my memory loss was connected to me sleeping. If I didn't sleep then it would simply just... go away.' He snorted. 'I told you it was an idiotic plan.'

'It was a dream. We all do stupid, impossible things in our dreams.' She squeezed him tight. 'How well did that work? How long did you make it without sleep?'

'A week.' Sherlock screwed his eyes shut. Despite it being a dream it was still burning away in the depths of his mind. It had been a terrible week. Those seven days had been like torture to him.

'A week without sleep? My goodness. That's quite impressive. Especially if you were up there in years.' She stroked his head and sighed. 'So, what happened after that week? Did you fall asleep and lose more memories?'

'No. I became very ill and ratty. John tried to get me to go to sleep and I refused, even going as far as getting my own son to retrieve me an energy drink. That's how I was staying awake you see. I then–' His throat closed up. 'I hurt John. Oh mummy. I hurt my John.'

'Shhh. Shhh. It's ok sweetie. It's ok.' She clutched him tight, holding him close as she comforted him. 'It wasn't real. Your John is fine. He's safe, he's unharmed, and he's happy you're awake and alive.'

'We had this awful argument! I got so angry. I was tired, and he brought up the fact I was starting to forget how to play the violin and–' Sherlock sobbed into his mother's shoulder. 'I pushed him down the stairs! He lay there broken and bloody and it was all my fault!'

'Oh. Oh, honey.' Violet didn't know what to say. She just hugged her sobbing son, rubbing his shoulders gently.

'I knew one thing then. I knew I needed to leave the world around me. I had to go – to die – if I wanted John and the children to have an ounce of happiness. So that's exactly what I did. I killed myself.' Sherlock's sobs grew in volume and pitch.

He what? Violet couldn't believe what had just come out of her son's mouth. No. No! She buried her face in her son's curls and sobbed loudly. She didn't want to think of a world where her son was dead, especially one where he was the one who ended his life.

'I'm sorry, mother. I'm so sorry,' Sherlock apologised frantically.

'My baby boy,' Violet sobbed, clutching her youngest son to her tightly. 'Please, don't ever think about taking that course of action. Never. Promise me. Promise me you won't take that route. Please. I can't lose my baby to... to... to suicide.'

'Never mummy. Never. I just–' Sherlock's pulse was hammering in his ears. 'I can't hurt John. It's better that he hates me for rejecting him than the alternative. Can you see that now?'

'No. I don't see it,' Violet chocked out. She took a few deep breaths, steadying herself before continuing. 'That was just a dream. Dreams are in no way a mirror of reality. Your coma dream gave you your perfect life, and it also gave you your worst nightmare. Your dream is not going to come true. Please, darling, be smart about this. Use that big brain of yours I gave you. Please. Sit back and think about this logically. Don't be stupid.'

'I can't!' Sherlock yelled. 'I can't be with John, mother!'

Of course that would be the exact moment that the man in question walked through the door.

'Why can't you be with me, Sherlock?' John asked in a small voice.

Sherlock jumped and let out a small whimper, glancing up at him with red, puffy eyes from how hard he'd been crying.

'I'll let you two talk,' Violet said softly, sliding off the bed and to her feet. She placed a loving kiss on Sherlock's forehead. 'Please. Think with your heart, not with your head. You love him. Don't be a fool.' She took her leave, squeezing John's arm gently. She offered him a soft smile and left.

John looked at Sherlock, the stubbornness he'd gained with Greg disappeared. He was hurt again, his heart constricting in his chest. What the hell was going on.

'Why–' His throat closed in on itself. He tried swallowing, only managing to close it further. He opened his mouth and gulped down deep breaths. 'Why can't you be with me, love?'

Sherlock shrugged, rubbing at his reddened eyes. 'Just can't,' he replied, his voice weary and a little sorrowful.

'I still don't believe you,' John whispered. He stepped fully into the room and closed the door. He looked on at his... What even the hell was he now? They weren't lovers anymore, not by Sherlock's standards. Were they going to go back to being flat ages surrounded by sexual tension? But, now that they had experienced sex with each other, it would be so much worse.

John didn't want that. He wanted Sherlock to still want him, wanted Sherlock to still love him, wanted Sherlock to tell him his words were lies and he was only doing it because he didn't want him to be in danger. His arguments were weak, his excuses full of holes, John didn't believe him. But that didn't make the words hurt any less.

'You're going to need more than that to make me leave,' he said softly. He crossed the room, sitting down in the chair next to Sherlock's bed. 'You're scared, you're confused, and you look pretty traumatised. I can understand that. I've dealt with coma patients before, in the war and in the clinic. I know how coma patients react after waking up, and your experience is no different.

'I firmly believe you are saying these things because you don't want me to get hurt. I'm fine with that, but what I'm not fine with is you actually thinking this will work. You may be a man of many faces, but not even you could fake the connection we had during our time together. You need someone by your side, someone who will stand up for you and with you no matter what. And that person is me. That person has always been me. Please, don't tell me it was all a lie. I know it wasn't. I can see the pain in your eyes. This is hurting you too, telling the lies. So stop. I'm not going anywhere, I refuse to leave you, especially when you need me now more than ever. You've got me in your corner, Sherlock. And I'm here to stay.'

Why couldn't John drop this? Stubborn bastard!

_My stubborn bastard._

_No._

_Not anymore._

_John isn't yours so stop being selfish._

'Believe me–' Sherlock took a deep breath. 'Believe me when I say that nothing you say will ever make me want to rekindle a sexual or deep, emotional relationship with you.'

His heart twinged and pain rippled across his taut features.

'This is the way I wish things to be, and if you care for me at all you will respect my choice in the matter. For I do not need someone fighting my battles for me. I am strong, not made of glass. I am independent. I need no one. And I most certainly don't need you.'

John felt his heart stop at Sherlock's words. He didn't want him? Ever? At all? Did... Did he want him to move out? God, John wouldn't be able to handle that. He couldn't just leave Sherlock after all they'd been through. Experiment or not, they had had something. Something very real.

He looked up at Sherlock, his eyes full of unshed tears.

'Do you... Do you not want me at all? In any way? Sexual or not?' he asked in a small, almost defeated voice.

Sherlock's heart was pounding frantically now, almost screaming out to the world that he was still very much in love with John Watson.

'Of course I want you around.' Sherlock's lips formed a tight smile. 'Where would I be without my blogger?'

John glanced over to Sherlock's heart monitor. It was beeping frantically, an indication of lying, but John wasn't going to bring it up. Sherlock would just cover it up with more lies, and he couldn't cope with more.

He did relax when Sherlock said he still wanted him around though. It was a relief to hear that Sherlock didn't loath him completely. Not that he loathed him at all, but it sure felt like he did.

'Good,' he choked out, the lump in his throat thick and heavy. 'Good. That's... good.'

'Yes, very good,' Sherlock chuckled, but the cheerful sound didn't last.

'I am sorry. I realise I have perhaps crossed the line with what I have done. I hope that we can at least be civil with one another.'

'I hope so too,' John sighed. 'But, um, if you aren't gonna be wearing that anytime soon, I'll take the ring back.'

Sherlock frowned. He didn't want to give it back. He really didn't. He had to though. He picked it up and reluctantly passed it over to John.

'Here,' his voice cracked.

'Thanks,' John said, not thankful at all. He stared down at the gold band, turning it in his fingers. It was simple but it was elegant, much like the man he had intended to give it to. But, if Sherlock was no longer interested, then the ring no longer had a purpose.

'Suppose I should return it,' he mused, his heart breaking at the prospect. 'We won't be needing it anymore.'

'Yes. I suppose so.' Sherlock ran a hand through his long locks. 'I mean, there's no need for it anymore.' His face was a picture of devastation and his body was shaking violently.

John pocketed the ring and sighed loudly through his nose. He looked back up at Sherlock, noting the shaking and the completely devastated look on his face.

'Hey, you alright?' he asked softly. If they were seriously going to to back to being 'just flatmates' then Sherlock probably wouldn't appreciate the urge of protectiveness swelling in John's chest. 'Should I call a nurse?'

Sherlock was quick to shake his head. 'No nurses,' he sniffled. 'Doubt they'd be able to fix me anyway.'

'Why?' John asked softly. 'What's wrong? Can I help?'

Sherlock snorted loudly. 'I guess I'm just feeling–' He searched for the right word. '–lost.' Yes, that was an accurate word summing up how he was feeling 'And no, you can't help me.'

'Well, you can talk to me and I can listen,' John offered. 'It's a start at least. Talking your thoughts out is a good way to work through your feeling of being lost.'

'Where do I start?' Sherlock asked. 'Do I start with how sexually frustrated my body is after four months?' Sure enough his arousal was poking through his covers, quivering angrily, and John hadn't even touched him. 'Or shall I go into the fact I feel like death? Or maybe I should just come out and say it? I'm scared.'

'All of that is to be expected,' John nodded, falling back on Doctor Watson mode. Clearly, overprotective lover would be useless now, and he was going to have to train himself not to care so much.

'You were inside your own mind for four months, it is perfectly understandable and completely normal to feel all those things. I know you don't like to be called normal, but in this situation your experience is no different than everyone else's. I just wish I could help.'

He eyed Sherlock's very prominent and probably painful erection hungrily. It had been four months for him too. Four very long months of nothing: no food, no sleep, no sex. Well, ok, he ate and slept on occasion, but the sex bit was true. He hadn't tried to wank at all for fear of Sherlock waking up and wanting him immediately, and John wanted to be just as needy as his lover. It was a stupid reason, but John didn't care. All he cared about was Sherlock.

Sherlock shifted under John's stare. He was already filled with an unbearable desire for the army doctor and that most certainly wasn't helping. 'I ask that you not stare at me so intimately,' he practically begged before recomposing himself. 'And as I was saying, I do not require your help.'

John blinked and sat back in his chair. God, had he really been leaning closer to it? He wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. Good god, had he been drooling? It seemed it would be harder for John to quell his feelings for Sherlock than he initially thought. This was going to take some time, and lots of it.

'Of course you don't,' he finally managed to say. 'Since when do you need my help? You're Sherlock Holmes. You don't need anybody but yourself.' Whoa. Where the hell had that come from? John didn't know, nor did he particularly care. His emotions were rising against him and he needed to get out of that room before he broke down in front of his ex-lover.

'I'll leave so you can sort that out, yeah?' He nodded at Sherlock's arousal and stood. 'I'll be back later with your proper doctor and she and I will discuss your physical therapy options.' He paused awkwardly by the door. He very much wanted to give Sherlock a comforting goodbye kiss, but he wasn't allowed to anymore. God, this was worse than the memory loss. He just nodded curtly and took his leave, shutting the door behind him with an ominous click.

'No, John. You're wrong. I need you,' Sherlock muttered miserably as John left. The atmosphere left behind was thick with emotion. The highest on the list being desire, and right up there with it was anger and pain.

Sherlock was aroused and that little problem wasn't going to go anywhere anytime soon. And now that John couldn't help him out, or rather Sherlock had made it clear that he didn't need John (though that was a far cry from the truth), the detective would have to solve it himself.

He slipped a frail hand beneath his covers and grasped his arousal. He imagined the hands being smaller, softer, John's. His hips jerked upwards and a loud sound that could most likely be heard from miles away emitted from his throat, followed by a loud cry of ecstasy.

'John!'

John heard Sherlock cry his name, could hear the hurt and turmoil behind it, but mostly he could hear the blatant desire weaved within it. So, maybe Sherlock still wanted him after all. Maybe he was just scared and confused and he was pushing John away to protect him from himself. Whatever idiotic reason it was for, John knew that every word of denial that came out of Sherlock's mouth would be a lie. Sherlock still wanted him on some level, so maybe their relationship could be rekindled. Maybe the ring would still be used someday.

With that thought he smiled. Not a large smile or a warm one, but a smile nonetheless. He found Sherlock's doctor, a personal friend of his, and they began to chat.

It didn't take long for Sherlock to find his release though it wasn't very satisfying and only left him desiring John more than ever. He clenched his eyes shut as he lay in the bed, weak as kitten, hair sticking to his now sweaty forehead, breathing raggedly, and whimpering John's name over and over.

'–and after four months he's going to need some physical therapy.'

'Oh, I agree completely,' John nodded. 'I'm not even sure he's noticed that the muscles in his legs have atrophied. He's been a bit too preoccupied with his emotions, which is a first.'

'Well, from what you've told me about him, that can either be considered progress or a danger to society,' the doctor joked.

'Let's hope for everyone else's sakes it's progress on his part,' John laughed.

'Shall we go check on him?' the doctor asked, moving down the hall in the direction of Sherlock's room.

'Yeah. He's probably had enough time to work through some things. But, knock first just to be safe. He doesn't like it when people interrupt him when he's thinking.'

Sherlock was exhausted and was half tempted to fall asleep despite the fact the fear of sleeping still remained within him. It had all been a dream. Why was he still worrying about the same things?

Because even dreams have to have some element of truth.

His mind was still debating with his body about whether he should sleep or not when there was a short, sharp knock at the door. He sighed heavily. Well at least that was the argument settled for now. No sleeping, at least not yet.

'Come in,' he sighed, sounding tired and bored.

The doctor entered, a warm smile on her face.

'Hello Sherlock. I'm Doctor Morstan. It's good to see you awake. How are you feeling?'

Sherlock let his cool gaze flicker over the doctor. 'I could ask you the same thing, Doctor Morstan. After all, you're the one who found out your partner was cheating on you – this morning actually. Still, you've been expecting it for a while. Nevertheless, it's devastated you. You were planning on bringing up the subject of marriage and children, but I guess now that's a no go. Except–' The detective was smiling viciously now. He'd forgotten how good it felt to deduce the flaws of someone's life. It made an excellent and much needed distraction. 'You're going to give him another chance. I really wouldn't if I were you. He's currently with his receptionist taking part in far less innocent tasks than paperwork.'

Doctor Morstan's jaw dropped and John slapped a hand over his face.

'How–? How did you–?' the doctor stuttered. There was so much she wanted to know. His did he know all that? Was it really so obvious? She thought she had been hiding it particularly well. She wanted her patient to tell her how he'd known, but there was a more pressing matter at the moment.

'He's doing what?!' she screeched instead. 'That lying sack of shit! I'll kill him. I'll kill him! I don't care if it's against my Hippocratic oath. I. Will. Kill. That. Miserable. Bastard.'

Sherlock was grinning from ear to ear, not at all ashamed of the damage he had caused.

'Oh, you should,' he encouraged her. 'But I'm sure the police will take care of him. Your boyfriend has been a naughty man indeed. As well as being unfaithful I can tell you that he has been involved in several robberies too. If I were you I'd break up with him and turn him in.'

'Wha– Robberies?! How the hell can you tell that? He isn't even here!'

Sherlock sighed. Why did people have to be such utter idiots?

'I deduced it.'

'I know that!' the doctor snapped. 'Tell me what you see is what I'm saying. How could you tell he's been involved in robberies just by looking at me, when the arsehole in question isn't even in the room?'

'Dear me. Is it customary to yell at your patients, doctor?' Sherlock's eyebrow twitched up in amusement.

'It is quite obvious that your husband has been involved in robberies. I can tell from the small tattoo on your neck. There is a large group of thieves that use that particular symbol. They mark their partners with it.'

The doctor's hand snapped up to cover her tattoo. She thought she'd covered it well. Shit. Then the implications behind her patient's words hit her.

'You mean... You mean that I was branded? Like a piece of cattle?!'

Sherlock was even more amused now. 'Exactly like cattle. Let me guess. He told you that if you really loved him you'd get that specific tattoo?' He snorted. 'I bet he says that to all the women he conquers. That's how the group works you see. They steal and they conquer women on the side for fun. Does it have a number on it?' Sherlock squinted and laughed as he made out the number 20. 'You're his twentieth conquest then. Interesting.'

'_Twentieth?!_' the good doctor screeched. John just sighed and slumped down in a chair. He'd let Sherlock have his fun now. He'd scold him later.

'Twentieth?!' the doctor repeated. 'That son of a bitch! Where's that detective fellow you two are always with? I need his number! Now! I have a slew of crimes and names to give him.'

'I'm afraid he's rather occupied at the moment,' John said, rubbing circles into his temples. 'I can give you the number if his assistant though.'

'Whatever works,' Doctor Morstan growled. 'Give it here.' She took the slip of paper from John's fingers and stormed out of the room, muttering profanities under her breath.

John sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

'Are you happy, now?' he asked Sherlock. 'Got that out of your system?'

Sherlock frowned and huffed. He deserved that deduction escapade. He desperately needed something other than John in his mind.

'A bit not good?' he asked sarcastically.

'Just a bit,' John replied just as sarcastically. 'Sherlock, I know you needed that, but couldn't you have gone about that a little more, I don't know, politely?'

'There was no point in dancing around the facts.' Sherlock absently pulled one of his overgrown curls down in front of his eyes, observing it as though it was the most interesting thing in the world. 'And besides, I am not polite.'

_You were when you were with me_, John sighed. He didn't dare say it aloud. He didn't want Sherlock snapping at him about it all being an act again. But John had heard him cry his name in ecstasy barely five minutes ago. Sherlock still wanted him in some way, he just didn't want to admit it.

Instead he watched Sherlock observing his own long locks. His hair had grown so long it almost touched his shoulders. John didn't understand why they didn't let him trim it at all. It wasn't like he was going to kill Sherlock in his sleep with a pair of scissors. No. He wouldn't do it like that. Probably a pillow or he'd stuff his scarf down his throat. Less gruesome than a pair of scissors.

'I wanted to trim it,' John said aloud. 'But the staff here are idiots and they wouldn't let me touch you. Apparently I can't be trusted with a pair of scissors.'

Sherlock couldn't help but smile at that. 'I imagine that it would have been quite a sight. John Watson trimming my curls.'

'Doctor, soldier, blogger, and personal hairdresser to Sherlock Holmes,' John grinned.

A loud bout of laughter escaped Sherlock's lips. 'My personal hair dresser? I'd like to see you try to tame my curls. Many men have tried and many have failed. Up to the challenge, John?'

For a moment, things were good. Things were right. They were laughing like old times. That feeling didn't last long.

'When it comes to you I'm up for any challenge,' John let slip after his bout of laughter. He clamped his mouth shut, realising what he'd said, embarrassed and guilty. That wasn't them anymore.

Sherlock looked on at John sadly. 'Yes, I remember that fact clearly. You conquered me, did you not? And I think we can both agree I am the biggest challenge of them all.'

'Yes,' John nodded slowly. 'You were a great challenge. And I came out of it relatively unscathed.'

Sherlock sighed and looked away from John. 'I'll just shut up, shall I?' He couldn't bear to look at his flatmate in the eye.

'No, please,' John begged softly. He reached out for Sherlock before remembering how he'd wrenched his hand away the last few times. He frowned and settled for placing his hand on the bed, close to Sherlock's hand in case he wanted to be the one to initiate contact.

'Please, don't stop talking,' John said again. 'You have been silent for four months. It's so good to hear your voice again. Please, don't stop talking.'

Sherlock ghosted his fingers over John's knuckles almost out of instinct. 'You missed me then?' he asked softly. 'Missed me being around?'

'Of course I did,' John said softly. He moved his fingers so they were laying over Sherlock's, almost but not quite linking them together. 'You're my best friend, Sherlock. And you are – were – my lover. Of course I missed you.'

Sherlock nodded and swallowed. 'Best friend?' he questioned. 'I knew that we were friends. Lovers too. But I don't think you've described me as that before.'

'I'm pretty sure I've mentioned it before,' John said, searching his memory. 'But, if I haven't, I'll say it again.' He smiled softly before squeezing his fingers gently against Sherlock's.

'You're my best friend, Sherlock,' he repeated. 'You are the best friend I've ever had.'

Sherlock bit his lip, eyes sad and regretful. He removed his hand from where it lay touching John's and turned his head into his pillow.

'And you are mine,' he whispered.

John smiled softly, trying to hide his frown. His hand dropped from the bed and he placed it in his lap. He raked his gaze over Sherlock, taking in his long hair, haunted eyes, sunken cheeks, and everything else that had changed over those long four months.

'Would you like to get some sleep?' he asked quietly. 'You should have plenty of time now. I don't think Mary– Doctor Morstan will be coming back any time soon.'

Sherlock didn't miss that little slip up. His eyes were slightly startled and his lip wobbled, but only for a second. 'You're attracted to her,' he stated coldly. 'Was she an ex of yours?' He scrutinized John with his eyes. 'Or maybe you've moved on already?'

'No! No, Sherlock. I swear,' John said quickly. 'She and I went to medical school together. She joined a clinic, I joined the Army. Yes, we dated for a couple weeks but it never went anywhere. And it's not going to pick up where it left off. I promise you, that's all there is. She's an old friend. That's it.'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'You were all over her like a little lost puppy. No point in lying to me, John. No point at all.'

'No. Sherlock, I swear to you that there is nothing there,' John assured him. 'You just dumped me ten minutes ago. You seriously expect that I would move on that quickly? This is you we're talking about. There's no getting over you.'

'You say that now,' Sherlock said in a small voice. 'But in a couple of month's time I can guarantee that you will have moved on from me. And don't use the word dumped. It makes you sound like trash and that is far from the truth.'

'You expect me to move on from you in just two months?' John let out a loud, mirthless laugh. 'Sherlock, after everything we went through, it would take me two years to move on from you, if I ever did that is. And I'll use the word dumped because that's exactly what you did. You dumped a load of crap on me and now I feel used and, yeah, like trash.'

'I didn't–' Sherlock was at loss for words. 'I didn't – I mean – you're not the only one who feels like a load of crap as been dumped on them.'

'Oh? So you feel like shit too?' John asked, his voice coming out a lot more venomous than he intended. 'And why is that, Sherlock? It's not like you actually cared for me, so why would you feel like shit?'

Sherlock flinched and recoiled as far away from John as he could. Those words hurt like hell. He cared. Couldn't John see that? That's why he was letting him go.

'I wish that– John, it's just–' His lips refused to cooperate and in the end he just sealed them shut.

'Just what, Sherlock?' John questioned sternly. 'What do you wish? That this had never happened? Because right now I almost do too. Would have saved myself the heartbreak.'

Sherlock could feel it coming. The scream. It was building in his chest, rising up through his body like a fire, coiling around his Adam's apple, and finally his lips opened. The scream was ear shattering, angered, pained. He fisted his bed sheets tightly. His heart monitor went through the roof. His breathing was rough and sharp. No he didn't wish that. He didn't wish that at all. He wished that the damn coma dream hadn't happened. He wished that he could rid himself of the image of himself hurting John. He wished that he was, god help him, normal. Because maybe if he was normal none of this would have happened.

John flinched and covered his ears, clenching his eyes shut. Sherlock's scream was bloodcurdling, gut wrenching, and heartbreaking. John instantly regretted his words, and knew for a fact that Sherlock still cared for him deeply. John felt like an idiot.

Sherlock's scream turned into loud sobs and John leapt into action. He didn't think, he just reacted. He sat down next to Sherlock and pulled him into a tender embrace.

'I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,' he whispered into Sherlock's hair. 'God, I'm so sorry. I'm an idiot, a major fucking idiot. I'm sorry.'

Sherlock lay limp in John's arms, sobbing, too weak to move or to say anything. God, John's arms were so warm and he was so close that he could hear his heartbeat. That only made him cry harder.

John just kept apologising. He held him close, squeezing him tightly, letting him know he was there. He would always be there. He placed a soft kiss to the top of Sherlock's head before he began to sob into his hair.

Soon Sherlock's sobs quieted. His throat felt red raw from screaming and he felt weak as a baby. He closed his eyes and sniffled against John's shoulder, barely conscious, sleep dragging his weary body under.

John sucked down deep breaths, trying to calm himself as Sherlock did. He could feel Sherlock's weight pressing against him, could tell he was slowly falling asleep. Quite frankly, John was exhausted too. He closed his eyes and adjusted their positions on the bed, making sure Sherlock was comfortable.

'Get some rest, love,' he whispered. 'I'll be here when you wake up.'

Sherlock was too tired to protest against the use of 'love.' So instead he let himself fall asleep. The only thing he was aware of was that he was pressed close to a warm body. Not just any warm body.

John's.

* * *

Ok, so from here until probably chapter 30 will be heavy angst and triggery, so just fair warning. If angst isn't really your thing, I'm sorry, but the description does say some dark themes and elements. Well, this is where the bad ones begin.

I move into my dorm next Thursday, so one last chapter before I move! Then I'll hopefully be able to start updating this three times a week, Monday, Wednesday, Friday. That's the plan at least. Otherwise maybe just twice a week will do. I don't really know. I haven't decided yet. But getting my grades up is my priority right now so I can study abroad next year.

So, we'll see you all next week. Happy Red Pants Monday!

TSA + IB


	27. Fighting Demons

Sorry for the delay, but I've been moving into my dorm and organising and it's taking quite a lot of time to get everything in its proper place. I'm still trying to figure out where to put all my dishes and posters and all the small things that don't really have a place.

But now that I'm up at school, I'm going to try to update this at least twice a week. I'm thinking Mondays and Fridays? I'll try that to see how it goes. And if I can, maybe I can try to update three times a week. But we'll see how the semester goes.

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock

Me: John

_Trigger Warnings for this chapter: dubious consent, cutting, depression, suicidal ideations, voice telling someone to kill himself._

* * *

Chapter 27 – Fighting Demons

John woke a few hours later, sore from sleeping in such an odd position. He blinked as he awoke, taking note of the pressure on his chest. He looked down and his heart stuttered at the sight.

Sherlock was curled against him, sleeping peacefully, his arm draped across his waist, and his hand clutching tightly to the material of his shirt.

_He still cares,_ John smiled to himself. _He still cares._ He softly ran his fingers through Sherlock's long locks, trying not to wake him.

'I love you,' he whispered softly. 'I will always love you. You may claim that you don't love me, may try to push me away, may treat me like crap down the road, but I will always love you. Nothing is ever going to change how I feel about you. Not even you. Especially not you. Because I know, deep down, you still care for me. Maybe you'll eventually come to your senses and realise that you love me too. But, until that day comes, if it ever does, I promise to stand by you and fight alongside you. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, together forever.'

Sherlock woke to the sound of John's heart and for a moment he forgot about the fact he was supposed to be pushing him away. He smiled, nuzzling his nose into John's chest. He pushed himself closer, his morning arousal large and prominent and rubbing against his flatmate. He moaned and ran his fingertips down the material of John's shirt.

John's eyes widened and he purred. 'Mmm, hel-lo,' he moaned. He shifted subtly and Sherlock's blatant arousal rubbed against his thigh.

'It seems at least _you_ still like me,' he said to Sherlock's cock. 'Good morning to me.' Sherlock's clothed erection twitched and throbbed and he pushed himself closer.

'Mmmm,' he hummed, still half asleep and unaware of how his body was reacting to John.

John shifted again, rubbing his thigh against Sherlock's erection. He shifted slightly, Sherlock's body laying almost completely over his own. Oh. He liked that. He liked that a lot. John moaned low in his throat and shifted his hips, his own morning wood sliding against Sherlock's. God that felt good. He did it again, making sure to move slowly so Sherlock wouldn't wake.

Sherlock's brow pinched together in confusion as he began to wake. As he did he was quite aware that something or rather someone was moving against him, subtly, as though trying not to get caught. He cracked an eye open. Oh god. Big mistake. John was rocking up against him, his mouth hung open in pure bliss.

'J-ohn?' he gasped. 'What?' He gulped, deciding to give his flatmate the benefit of the doubt. Surely John would never do that without his consent. Knowing– well, believing Sherlock didn't care for him anymore, would he?

'What are you doing?' he finally managed to ask.

John's eyes snapped open in shock.

Fuck.

He snapped his mouth shut and swallowed audibly. He had no idea what he'd been doing. He was blinded by blatant need, desperate for Sherlock's affections. If he had felt guilty before he certainly felt guilty now. He had been taking advantage of Sherlock against his will, he...

Oh god.

John had almost raped him.

'John?' Sherlock tried again. 'What were you doing?' The man below him looked horrified and in turn Sherlock was slightly horrified too. 'Were you... trying to gain a release? Whilst I was asleep?'

John's breathing became harsh and laboured. Yes. That's exactly what he'd been trying to do. And he was guilty and ashamed for his actions. He couldn't trust himself to speak, was still in shock. But he knew Sherlock knew. He could read it on him, probably taking his silence as confirmation. He wished the bed would open up and swallow him whole. Wished he could disappear. But he could never leave Sherlock. He couldn't. He loved him too damn much. He swallowed again, his vision blurring as his eyes filled with tears.

He hated himself. Downright hated himself. So damn much.

Sherlock felt, frankly, a little betrayed. He had made himself perfectly clear that he wasn't going to participate in such activities.

_**Even though you really want to, don't you Sherlock?  
**__  
Oh, shut up!_

'Why?' He choked on the little word. 'We always gave each other consent, always,' he began. 'Funny thing is, I don't remember being around to give consent this time.'

Why was he the angry one? John had done nothing wrong. He was just acting on four months without any sexual activities. Maybe he wasn't angry at John. Maybe he was angry at the whole damn world. Angry at the way he was such a coward and an idiot. But then the sense of betrayal washed over him again. Even with everything that had gone on, John should have known better. He moved slightly so that his arousal was touching John's thigh and not the army doctor's own arousal.

'I know I've been a dick, but how could you do that to me?'

John turned his face away from Sherlock. He couldn't bear to look at him right now. Not after how he'd violated him like that.

'I'm sorry,' he choked out. 'I... I don't know what I was thinking. I just...' He paused and swallowed around the lump in his throat.

'It's been four months, Sherlock. _Four months._ I didn't take care of myself because I was too worried about you. I barely ate, barely slept, and I never touched myself. Never gave myself any kind of relief. And when I woke up and your arousal was pressed up against me... I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I just acted. I didn't think. I... I'm so sorry. I'm a dick. An idiotic dick.'

Guilt and concern were quick to replace the feelings of anger and betrayal.

'You should have been taking care of yourself,' he said gently. 'Isn't that what you were always telling me? That I should take care of myself no matter what. Why shouldn't that apply to you?'

He glanced down at John's arousal and bit his lip. 'I could help you with that. Nothing but a quick grope though.' He paused to lick his lips. 'I wouldn't want you to get the wrong idea.'

'You've always come first for me,' John said softly. 'Always. You are the most important person in my life, Sherlock. I watch out for you first. That's how it's always been.'

He glanced down at his arousal, straining in his jeans. He wanted a lot more than a quick grope. It wouldn't be nearly as satisfying after four months of nothing. No. If Sherlock was going to pleasure him he wanted a lot more than just his hand.

'While, um... While I appreciate your offer to help–' John gulped. 'I'm going to have to decline. I mean, I want you to, don't get me wrong, I really do. But... After all you said, why would you offer to help? How would that be beneficial to me? How could I not get the wrong idea from that?'

Sherlock ran a finger over John's arousal. 'Because you're not the only one who is sexually frustrated. I can sympathise.'

'Stop. Just, stop,' John sighed. He pushed Sherlock's hand away and moved off the bed. 'I... I don't want a release unless it's with you. Not only that, but I want a lot more than just your hand after four months of nothing. And you aren't willing to give me that, so I'm not going to ask you to do it.

'It will go away eventually,' he said when he saw the concerned look on his ex-lover's face. 'It always does. If you'll excuse me.'

He hobbled off to the bathroom connected to Sherlock's room, closing the door behind him. He stood against it, taking deep breaths, trying not to cry. He ambled over to the sink, opening a drawer and pulling out a small box. He hadn't had to use this drastic method in a while, but his erection wasn't going away and he desperately needed it to.

He opened the box and sighed dejectedly at its contents. He picked up the blade, turning it and examining it in the light. He undid his belt and let his jeans fall to the floor, whimpering when they brushed against his erection. He looked at the thick scars already littering his thighs, sighing morosely. He had found that cuts closest to his problem quelled it faster, but the cuts had to be made fast and deep.

He braced himself, steadying the blade in his hand. He picked a spot, closed his eyes, and quickly swiped the blade over his flesh, cutting deep. The physical pain was a welcome distraction from his emotions, from the bullshit Sherlock was spewing, from the desire raging through him, but mostly from the guilt at his actions barely a minute before. He swallowed down his cry of agony, not wanting Sherlock to hear. The blood was thick and dark, rolling out of the cut slowly, his erection dying at the sight and from the pain shooting up his leg. John set the blade aside, planning on cleaning it later. He quickly pulled the medical supplies out of the box and set to work.

Once the wound was cleaned, stitched, and dressed, he put everything back. Except the blade. He needed to do something else first. He reached over and flushed the loo, making sure Sherlock heard. He then turned on the water in the sink, cleaning the blade and his hands. Now it wouldn't look as suspicious as it would have if he had simply started the sink without flushing the loo first. Now it appeared he'd actually done something instead of what he'd actually done.

He dried the blade and set it back in the box, closing it and putting it back in its drawer. He dried his hands next before pulling his jeans back up and fastening them. He looked at himself in the mirror, making sure he looked presentable before opening the door and stepping back out into Sherlock's room. He made his way over to the chair beside the bed and sat in it, ignoring the look on Sherlock's face.

Because if he looked at the look of outright pity and concern for too long, he might just break down and end it all.

Sherlock knew.

It wasn't hard to deduce. He was aware of John's past. He was aware of what self destruction his flatmate was capable of. It was written all over his features. He looked guilty, ashamed even. If it had really been just the toilet he'd gone to then that wouldn't be the case.

His heart practically leapt at the sight. Not his John. God no.

Now the man wouldn't even look at him.

Sherlock felt like shit. He wanted nothing more than to leap to his feet and pull John into a hug. He wanted to tell him that he was sorry and he hadn't meant to hurt him so much. As it happened, he couldn't get out of bed even if he wanted to.

The tears welled up in his eyes and his body was beginning to shake again. He was fighting down another scream. John didn't need more of his bull and Sherlock was determined to stay quiet. He couldn't quite help the whimper that left his lips though.

John looked up when he heard the whimper. What was that for? The pained look on Sherlock's face told him everything.

He knew.

John swallowed and held his face in his hands. Why did he have to be such a fuck up? Why did he have to be so damaged? He peered at Sherlock from between his fingers, his heart breaking at the sight. He looked, for lack of a better term, heartbroken.

John stood up, tossing his own emotions aside and going to aide Sherlock. He sat next to him and pulled him onto his lap. He didn't speak, he didn't know what to say, so he simply let his actions speak for him.

Sherlock was miserable. Truly miserable.

John was comforting him when it should have been the other way around.

Sherlock reached out and rested his hand over John's, writing complicated Gallifreyan over it. John gasped at Sherlock's touch, trying to read the complicated word Sherlock was spelling on his skin. He had been trying to learn the fictional language over the past four months. He had made a lot of progress, but apparently he wasn't up to Sherlock's skill level.

'What, um... What are you writing?' he asked softly.

Sherlock snatched away his hand and shrugged. 'Doesn't matter. Err... sorry.' He shivered. Why was it suddenly so cold? He bunched himself as close as possible to John, desperate to get warm.

_Why isn't he telling me anything anymore? _John sighed and held Sherlock closer. Damn. He really wanted to know what that Gallifreyan meant.

Sherlock hadn't felt so utterly childlike since... well, since he'd resorted to hugging his nephew at Felicity's graduation.

Except that had been a dream.

He could still see the ginger haired toddler. He looked just like a tiny Mycroft.

His heart swelled and felt as though it was going to spill over.

'Mark,' he whispered into John's chest. 'Little Mark.'

'Who's Mark?' John asked softly.

'No one,' Sherlock replied sadly. 'No one important.'

_Lies! He was your nephew! Of course he's important!_

'Ok,' John said slowly. 'If he's not important, then who is he?'

Sherlock buried his head in John's chest. The tears began to spill, hot and heavy and wetting John's shirt.

He shrugged. 'No one.' He sounded pathetic, small and broken.

'Oh, lo– Sherlock,' John said, catching himself before he could say 'love.' 'It will be ok. I wish I had more to say than that, but it will.'

_Who is this Mark kid? I know all of Sherlock's 'acquaintances' and no one is named Mark. Who the hell is this guy that he can cause Sherlock this much pain? Childhood friend who died? No, Sherlock despised his childhood. For good reason.  
_  
'It's fine.' Sherlock let out a stifled sob. 'I'm fine. I'm super.'

He smiled as he remembered Mark loving it when he sang the song from Mary Poppins because it was 'fun' apparently.

'Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious,' he began to sing in his peppery soft voice.

_Mary Poppins?_ John raised an eyebrow at the song. He didn't even know Sherlock knew about the magical nanny. What had made the movie so special that he hadn't deleted it? Sherlock's voice was beautiful, just as beautiful as when he said 'Misty Mountains' to him so long ago. God, it felt good to hear him sing again. John couldn't resist.

'Even though the sound of it is something quite atrocious. If you say it loud enough, you'll always sound precocious. Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.'

Sherlock raised his head and grinned. 'You have a most beautiful voice,' he practically purred. He nuzzled his nose against John's neck and, without really thinking, began to kiss his way up and down it appreciatively.

He froze.

Oh god.

'John I didn't–' He didn't know what to say, so instead he just rested his head back on John's chest.

John's heart was hammering in his chest. Sherlock had begun kissing his neck, almost lovingly. No, there was no almost. Sherlock had said John had a beautiful voice and then he'd begun kissing his neck appreciatively. Out of habit, or because he still deeply cared?

The tension in the air was thick, John's heart pounding loudly. And Sherlock's head on his chest wasn't making the issue any better. He could hear his heart, hear what he had done to him, probably see it too. His jeans were too damn tight again. Fuck. Not again. With Sherlock awake John would probably be doing the bathroom routine quite frequently. And he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

The unsteady thrum of John's heart was vibrating against his eardrum.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Sherlock took a deep breath to try and control his own heartbeat but with little success. The machine he was attached to once again gave his game away, beeping erratically and out of control.

He shivered as he felt John shift and both their arousals touched. 'I'm sorry.' He closed his eyes, fending off his emotions. 'I'm so sorry.'

'No,' John swallowed. 'It's... fine.' He glanced over to Sherlock's heart monitor and sighed. 'Just try to relax, ok? Don't want a nurse bursting in.'

Sherlock smiled against John's chest. 'Wouldn't be the first time that has happened.'

'At least we aren't in such a compromising position as the last times,' John laughed lightly.

'If I remember correctly, you were the one who got the telling off. I was the innocent party.' Sherlock's small smile grew.

'Yes, because as a medical man I should know better than to give a trauma patient a blow job,' John grinned.

'I don't remember being particularly traumatised,' Sherlock replied with a deep chuckle.

'Not at that point you weren't,' John smirked.

'I was happy,' Sherlock sighed. 'I was hurt, and all kinds of shit were going down. But I was happy.'

'I went down on you, too,' John winked. 'And I know for a fact that made you very happy.'

'Very happy indeed,' Sherlock agreed. 'The happiest I've ever been.'

'Really?' John asked incredulously. 'The happiest you've ever been was when I went down on you after Moriarty's henchman almost beat you to death?'

Sherlock opened his eyes for the sole purpose of looking up at John and rolling them. 'That was just a minor detail, and besides, almost getting beaten to death isn't as bad as it sounds.'

'I was beaten many times during the war,' John said softly. 'Trust me; it's not all you think it's cracked up to be.'

'I... I don't know what to say to that.' Sherlock exhaled deeply. 'I didn't mean that it was fun, just that there are worse ways to die.'

He could still remember the cold metal of the gun placed delicately in his lips, the trigger against his finger, his breathing almost nonexistent, the screams of his children.

'Yes, John. There are far worse ways to die.'

'Trust me, I know all about terrible deaths,' John swallowed. The war was creeping back. The blood, the bullets, explosions, blown off limbs, holes in chests and abdomens. So much death. He couldn't prevent it. Couldn't stop it. Couldn't help.

_**Worthless. Worthless. Worthless.  
**_  
_Shut up!  
_  
Sherlock could see the anguish spreading across John's face. 'Shhh,' he shushed him. 'It's alright. It's quite alright. I'm here, John. No need to go back there, to the war.'

'It was so hard without you here,' John said softly. 'My nightmares came back, I wasn't sleeping. My limp threatened to come back, and it did for a while, but I got it under it under control. But the nightmares were still there. Are still here.'

Sherlock frowned and nodded in understanding. 'I suppose we've both had to fight our own demons during these four months. We'll struggle through it I suppose. We always seem to find a way.'

'What demons did you face?' John asked softly. 'If you're comfortable talking about them that is.'

'No.' Sherlock shook his head, chewing his lower lip. 'I'm not comfortable with talking about them.'

'Ok,' John said softly. 'Ok. You don't have to. I just hope you do eventually.'

'I hate going back there,' Sherlock admitted. 'It's bad enough that I have to live with the images.' He tapped his head with his fingers. 'In here.'

'I'm the same with the war,' John nodded. 'Even after all these years, it still haunts me.'

'But then without those memories you wouldn't be the man that you are,' Sherlock pointed out. 'As for me, I don't know if I will ever be the same, or who I am becoming.'

'At least yours was only a dream,' John sighed. 'While yours only felt real, mine was.'

'It does not compare in the slightest, I know.' Sherlock felt like an idiot. What he'd been through was nothing compared to what John had been through in the past. But it had brought up some very real memories of his father. His scars had certainly made an appearance, bleeding and red and sore. His father had been one of the reasons he hadn't been able to get to sleep in the dream world.

'It doesn't mean it wasn't still traumatising,' John said. 'I'm sure it was, and I'm sure you felt trapped as well.'

'No, actually, I didn't feel trapped,' Sherlock said honestly. 'Not until the very end. And even then I managed to escape.'

'Oh.' John frowned. 'So... Your dream was happy until it went bad in the end?'

'It wasn't perfect, but then my life never has been perfect. It did, however, have an element of perfection.' He gazed up at John meaningfully. 'And yes, it turned rather ugly at the end. Rather ugly indeed.'

'By perfection, do you mean I was there?' John asked softly. 'And ugly...? Oh no. Did I die?'

'What about the whole "I hate going back there" don't you get?' Sherlock bit back.

'Sorry. Sorry,' John apologised. 'I just... I'll just shut up.' He clamped his lips shut and turned his face away, his chest tight.

_**Fuck up.  
**_  
_Shut up!  
_  
'Don't apologise,' Sherlock mumbled. 'And for god's sake breathe. You're going bright red in the face.'

John took a shuddering breath through his nose. It hurt, but he managed.

_**He doesn't want you anymore. He'll be better off without you.  
**_  
_Shut up!  
_  
_**You have everything you need right through that door, tucked in a box in a drawer. Do it.  
**_  
_I said shut up!  
_  
_**No. You're miserable. He broke your heart. He lied to you. He never wanted you. So, give him what he was actually asking for. For you to disappear. Leave, forever. Do it.  
**_  
'No,' John whimpered aloud.

'John?'

Sherlock's heart clenched painfully as he heard his former lover's whimper. He knew that he was the cause of it. That he had and still was exposing John to pain that he shouldn't have to deal with.

'Oh, John.' Sherlock wrapped his bony arms around the army doctor's waist, willing him to breathe properly, willing his pain to just ebb away into nothingness.

_**Aw. Look. He's hugging you to make baby Johnny feel better.  
**_  
_Please, just go away.  
_  
_**Why would I do that? We're having so much fun.  
**_  
_Shut up. Shut up, please. You're not him. He's right here. You're not him.  
_  
_**Oh, but I am him. I'm the version of him you were always afraid of. The man who couldn't possibly love you. How could a man like me possibly love you? Plain, boring, ordinary Doctor Watson. How could a man with such a massive intellect possibly love someone like you? What do you have to offer me? Writing up the cases, making the tea. Sure, those are fine and dandy, but you aren't as mentally stimulating as Miss Adler. I fancied her you know. She had a sharp mind and a great body to boot. She's perfect. You aren't.  
**_  
John began sobbing. It was right. How could Sherlock have ever loved him? He was too boring. Too ordinary. Sherlock never loved him. It was all an experiment, a lie, and he'd fell for it, and the man behind it, hook, line, and sinker.

_You fool. You stupid, sentimental, idiotic fool.  
_  
And there it was. The breakdown that had been brewing within John. All the signs had been there. The tears swelling in his kindly eyes, his sharp and stuttering breaths, the look of a lost puppy that had just been kicked by a solid boot.

He wasn't quite sure what to do. He wanted to kiss him but he'd lost that right from the moment he had started lying to him, from the moment he had taken his heart and stomped on it.

Sherlock was starting to question whether he was making the right decision. Was all this emotional pain worth it? The scenario of physically hurting John was just a 'what if' situation whilst the emotional pain was going on right now.

'What if' Sherlock Holmes is a very powerful thing.

_'What if' you end up killing him?_

'What if' you hurt him so badly he never wants to see you again?'

It's better this way by far.

No matter what he says now he'll be over you. It might take him a while, and he might end up hating you, but John will get over this.

He pulled his arms tighter around John, his thin and atrophied legs curling helplessly against him.

The voice continued, digging into his mind, his thoughts, his memories. It picked out very specific ones, pointing out where everything was so blatantly and obviously wrong, but John had been to blind to see it.

Sherlock never loved him. It was all a lie. None of it was real.

_No. It was real. It was real because he is currently curling up against me as best as he can. He is comforting me. If he had never had feelings for me he would just be sitting there awkwardly. He wouldn't be doing this. He's doing this now though because he cares.  
_  
The voice disappeared, the images erased, his chest loosened and he began breathing again.

He'd won this time. Who knew about the next? All he knew was that Sherlock was curled against him like a small child. John lifted a weary hand and placed it in Sherlock's curls.

John had started breathing again but Sherlock's grip on him didn't loosen. 'Better?' he asked John gently, humming as his ex-lover's hand ran through his curls.

'A bit, yeah,' John mumbled. 'Just wish you would– Never mind. I know you won't. After all, it was just an experiment.'

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut tightly. 'Yes, an experiment,' he sighed. 'A bloody experiment.'

'Hey. You ok?' John squeezed Sherlock slightly. 'Don't be like that. It's fine. It's all fine.'

It's not and you know it.

Shut up! Trying to comfort over here. Now, shoo!

'Do you take me for an idiot?' Sherlock said gruffly. 'I know that this isn't fine. I, on the other hand, am perfectly ok.' His voice didn't sound all that convincing despite his best efforts. 'It's you that I am troubled by. You are very much not ok.'

_Of course I'm not! I only had my bloody heart ripped out and stomped on! Oh, yeah, let's not forget about your disembodied voice telling me to kill myself. And the thigh slashes. Yeah. I'm fine. I'm bloody perfect._

John wanted to say that, he did, but he couldn't. Sherlock had only just awoken, he couldn't put all that on him. So he kept his mouth shut, for now. But he knew it would all come out later.

'Look, it's just nightmares,' he managed to say instead. 'I'll be fine once we get you home and started on some physical therapy.'

Sherlock sighed, not out of relief, for he knew John was lying, but more or less because he knew that he was probably a common factor of John's nightmares.

'We've worked through your nightmares before. I'm sure we'll be able to do the same now.'

A memory flooded to the tip of his mind. It would seem all of his memories had been restored to maximum. It was from way back, when Sherlock and John had barely been flatmates for a week. There had been a god awful scream from John's room and a thud. The scream and the thud had belonged to his disorientated and terrified flatmate. Sherlock had made tea and John had accepted it with a soft but tired smile. They'd stayed up all night talking. Just talking. It was a lovely memory and Sherlock treasured it dearly.

He then looked at his legs in disgust, glaring at them as though it was all their fault. 'Physical therapy,' he grumbled. 'Tedious.'

'You can't exactly will your muscles back,' John said. 'This isn't _Kill Bill_, you aren't an assassin, and I highly doubt it would work in real life the way it did in the movie. So, you'll go to therapy for a few weeks or however long it takes for you to get your strength back.'

Sherlock moved one of his hands to poke his right leg experimentally and pulled a face. It was disgusting, vile, and felt horrible under his touch.

'Don't touch,' John said, grabbing his hand and pulling it away. 'You won't like it. Trust me.'

Sherlock's eyes bugged from his skull. Was his body truly that unappealing now? Didn't John like him? He sighed again and just resorted to staring at the two useless limbs silently.

'Don't think like that,' John scolded. 'I still like you, I do. I just don't want you to touch them. Hey, look at me.' He grabbed Sherlock's chin and gingerly turned his head so they could see eye-to-eye. 'I do not find you disgusting. I never have and I never will. You just need to work them out and they'll get back to normal. I still like you. So stop thinking that I don't.'

Sherlock felt himself tripping and falling face first into those kindred eyes belonging to John.

'So, you've become a mind reader whilst I've been away,' he stated with a small smirk.

'I picked up a few tricks while you were out,' Job grinned smugly. God, had Sherlock's eyes always been that blue? Wow. They were gorgeous.

'We'll make a detective of you yet,' Sherlock joked, his insanity-filled blue pools inspecting John, soaking up the sight of his grin. Because, god forbid, he hated to think it, it may be the last grin that was meant for him and only him.

'We really could be like Batman and Robin then,' John smiled. 'I could be your Boy Wonder.'

'You're far from a boy, John,' Sherlock purred, the color of his eyes going from a blue to almost pitch black.

'Yes, I am,' John groaned. God dammit, he was hard as a fucking rock. His cheeks were hot, he could feel his pupils dilating. Hot damn.

_Show me. Show me, Sherlock. Show me how much of a man I am. Kiss me everywhere. Use your mouth. Please. Please.  
_  
Sherlock groaned in reply. He wanted nothing more than to attack John's lips till they were tired and bruised. Instead he moved uncomfortably on John, trying to get his clothed erection to a place where it wouldn't be bothersome for John. In the end he settled in on John's much too small stomach. He let out another groan and tried his best to prevent himself from moving downwards.

John groaned, shifting against Sherlock's erection.

'Please,' he begged. 'Please.'

'John I–' Sherlock swallowed thickly. 'I think we've been through this. I said I'm only prepared to grope you and in return you – you went to the bathroom and did–' He shook his head, not wanting to finish that sentence.

'I did it because I want a lot more than your hand,' John sighed. 'And I'll do it again. And you'll be powerless to stop me.'

'I know,' Sherlock muttered miserably. 'However I beg you not to do that again.'

'Why? What do you care?' John spat.

Sherlock had to quite literally stop himself breathing as to silence the scream once again rising up his throat. John closed his eyes, forcing himself to breathe. Sherlock, on the other hand, had gone completely still. Seemed they had different ways of keeping themselves from going off the deep end.

'For god's sake, Sherlock! Breathe!' John sighed exasperatedly. 'If it will make you feel better, I won't do it. Just fucking breathe.'

Sherlock still held his breath. John was bluffing. He'd do it whether he liked it or not.

'Sherlock? Sherlock, you're turning blue. Breathe. Please.'

Sherlock was starting to feel light headed. His lungs hurt from the lack of oxygen in them. Then there was the ringing penetrating his ears. But still he didn't breathe. For a moment he thought about dying of oxygen starvation. Wouldn't that make things easier for himself? It was awfully selfish but at least he wouldn't have to witness John's pain and obvious self destruction.

'Sherlock, you idiot,' John sighed. He laid Sherlock on his back, tilted his head back, and plugged his nose. 'You are not dying on me.' He opened Sherlock's mouth and brought his lips to his, blowing a large breath of air into his lungs. Sherlock almost gagged on the air forced down his lungs and coughed. That's when he noticed the close proximity of John's lips. And before he could quite catch up with his body his own lips were caressing them.

John's eyes popped open, shocked at the movement of Sherlock's lips on his own. But he didn't... Did he?

_Shut up and kiss him!  
_  
So John did. He released Sherlock's nose, his hands tangling in his long curls. God, he'd missed that. And Sherlock's lips were so soft, warm, and familiar. They were home. Sherlock moaned into the unexpected kiss. He tried to pull away, he really did. But somehow he just didn't have the heart. John clearly needed this. John pried Sherlock's mouth open with his tongue, delving inside before Sherlock could protest.

_Please. Don't ruin this. Please, let me have this. Please. If this is our last kiss... Just give me this. Please. Please.  
_  
Sherlock grunted in surprise as John's tongue came diving in. He flicked out his own tongue to greet it, blinded by lust.

_I love you. God do I love you. You're mine. You're all mine.  
_  
John moaned into Sherlock's mouth, their tongues sliding together in a wet, sloppy rush of lust. He shifted over Sherlock, straddling his waist.

_Please. Sherlock, please. Four months. Four long, lonely months. Please. Please.  
_  
'John,' Sherlock panted, breaking away. 'I don't think I can do this. This will only hurt you more. And I can't–' A salty tear slid from the side of his right eye and into his mouth.

'Please,' John begged. 'Sherlock, please. I – I need you. I need this. Please. Please.'

'I know. I need this too,' Sherlock agreed. 'But this doesn't change what I said before. Is that understood?'

John merely kissed Sherlock again. He didn't care. He really didn't. He needed this, badly. God, he needed this. He shifted his arousal along Sherlock's, hissing at how good it felt. He moaned into Sherlock's mouth, pressing his body closer, his tongue sliding back into Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock began kissing John back, giving in to what they both needed for the moment, despite knowing that in the long run this was a terrible mistake. He frantically rubbed their arousals together, grunting and moaning all the while.

John rut against Sherlock hard and fast. Four months of nothing and this was how they were going to get off? John didn't care. He was just happy Sherlock was allowing this to happen, especially after all he'd said. His hands travelled down Sherlock's neck and torso, settling on his hips to hold them still. He rut faster, moaning obscenely.

'Can I–' He gasped, Sherlock's erection sliding against his most sensitive spot. 'Can I touch you? Please?'

Sherlock swallowed but nodded. He wanted John to touch him as much as the man himself did.

So much for distancing himself.

John's hand snaked beneath Sherlock's flimsy hospital trousers, groping his achingly hard prick and stroking quickly. He undid his zip and pulled his own erection free, nearly cumming at the simple touch. He pulled Sherlock's trousers down so his erection could spring free, tucking the waistband under his balls. He grasped their erections in his hand, pulling one of Sherlock's hands to clasp his and help them along.

He kissed Sherlock soundly, moving their hands fast and squeezing them hard. He was so close already. So close it hurt. He whimpered into Sherlock's mouth as he neared his release, his body shaking. Sherlock felt a whimper of his own flickering off of his lips. This all felt so amazing. His body was tingling with a thousand sensations.

He felt guilty as hell for this. John would definitely get the wrong idea. He would think that Sherlock wanted this on a regular basis. And Sherlock did... but it couldn't because he had promised himself to distance himself from John.

He was close but his body just wouldn't relax and the chase for his release was exhausting him.

John moved faster, harder, squeezed tighter. He was close, so goddamn close. He pulled back from their kiss to gasp sharply. He squeezed his eyes shut and buried his face in the crook of Sherlock's neck, breathing in his scent. That was all it took for him to find his release. He screamed Sherlock's name as he came, his entire body shaking with the painful force of his orgasm. Sherlock flailed up in the air as he too found his release at long last. He moaned and chanted John's name like he was worshiping a god.

And then he broke.

He wailed like a terrified baby. He hid his face against John and sobbed. He trembled.

John gasped and panted against Sherlock, holding him tight as he broke down. He shifted their positions so Sherlock was laying on him, sobbing into his shoulder.

'I don't regret this,' John whispered. 'I will do my best not to let this change anything. It might be hard, but... I'll work through it. But I don't regret it. Not a bit.'

'No,' Sherlock cried out. 'I don't regret this. But – but–' He was too much of a mess to even finish that sentence.

'Shhh. Shhh, it's ok. It will be ok,' John said softly. He began drawing Gallifreyan on Sherlock's back, hoping his words would sooth him.

'No. I'm not okay.' Sherlock's body slumped tiredly and the sobs became trapped in his throat. 'I'm really not.'

'I know you don't want to talk about it, and I am far from a proper therapist, but would you want to?' John asked softly. 'You don't have to say anything if you don't want. But if you do, you don't have to give me all the details. Or you could start small. I just think it might help you to get whatever is on your chest out, and you might feel a little better.'

'I – no.' Sherlock shook his head. 'I've already spoken to my mother about it and that was bad enough. To speak to you about it – I just can't.'

'You told your mother... But you can't tell me?' John's voice trembled. He understood why Sherlock would tell his mother, but it still hurt just a bit that Sherlock couldn't tell him. Maybe it involved him in some way. Maybe something bad had happened to him. Sherlock did say it had gotten ugly near the end. Did dream John die? Did he get hurt? Did Sherlock hurt him in his dream?

_**Go talk to Violet. Get it out of her.  
**_  
_No. I would never violate Sherlock's trust like that.  
_  
_**Oh, like he respected yours? Months of secret experimentation? Don't you want to get any revenge?  
**_  
_No. I'm a better person than that. I could never hurt him like that. I love him too much.  
_  
_**But he doesn't love you.  
**_  
_Ok, that's it!  
_  
'If you'll excuse me for a moment, Sherlock,' John said, propping Sherlock up on his pillows before sliding off the bed. 'I need to take care of the– I just need to take care of something.' He slunk back into the bathroom, pressing his back against the door, gathering his breath.

'John, please don't do anything drastic,' Sherlock begged but he was quite aware that John wasn't listening to him. His flatmate was far too distressed to hear his voice. He held his hands to his face and took deep breaths. Images of what John was most likely going to do ran through his mind, causing him to feel positively nauseous and sick to his stomach.

'Please,' he tried again. 'I love you.'

No response.

He hadn't expected one.

John sat on the floor in front of the door, his head resting on his knees. If he hadn't been so focused on banishing Sherlock's disembodied voice from his head he might have heard the real Sherlock's confession.

But he didn't.

His mind was screaming at him, throwing insults and names at him, trying to get him to break. But John was fighting it, pushing back against it, throwing it against a wall. He refused to listen to the voice, because he knew the real Sherlock still cared for him in some way. Experiment or not, he was still his Sherlock and they were still friends. They loved each other, but it wasn't a shared romantic attachment anymore. But they still cared, still loved, and John had a hunch they always would.

Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson. Friends until the end, together forever.

John lifted his head to gaze upon the drawer, the box hidden inside. All he'd have to do was make a few select cuts and the voice would leave. It always did. But his Sherlock had asked him not to. And John really did want to try to stop, but he couldn't. Not today anyway. He slid across the floor and opened the drawer, pulling the box out and grabbing the blade from inside. He instantly cut a notch into his left wrist, another by his scar, and a thicker one in his lame leg.

The voice disappeared instantly, like magic. John stitched up the cut in his thigh and put gauze around his wrist. His shoulder wound got a padded bandage like tattoo parlours used, taping it down tightly. He put everything away and hobbled back out to Sherlock's room, his leg protesting from being cut into and sewed shut twice in one day.

Sherlock hardly dared to look up when he heard John enter the room, terrified of what he might see. A small whimper lifted off of his plump lips and he shook.

'I'm sorry, Sherlock,' John whispered. He plopped down into the chair by the bed, stretching out his cut leg and wrist. 'But I had to. It's the only way I know how to stop the – how to stop it.'

'It?' he whispered. 'Do you mean the pain I've put you through?'

His chest constricted and he whimpered again, still not daring to look at the man sat beside him.

'No,' John whispered. '"It" is the voice that has been plaguing me for about a month or so.'

Sherlock peaked a look at John. His curiosity rose to the surface. 'A voice? Jesus Christ John.' He blinked at the broken man. 'You should have gotten help.'

'It's you,' John gulped, looking into pale, icy blue eyes. 'And I didn't want to get help because it was your voice. I was finally hearing you again after so long. I considered it a blessing. You would talk to me, lull me to sleep, you sang to me once and it was as beautiful as I remembered. I had been so scared that I was forgetting what you sounded like, but the voice came along and made it so much better. Until it wasn't.'

'You know it's all an illusion, right John? You can let go of... "it" now.' Sherlock reached out a hand to John. 'Whatever you're hearing is a lie.' He frowned. 'Please tell me that you know that.'

'Of course I know that,' John sighed. He took Sherlock's offered hand, linking their fingers. 'He just won't leave. And... I think it's because I don't truly have you back. Not in the way I want you. So, he's still here to taunt me... about you not wanting me. How you never wanted me and you never will– SHUT UP!' he shouted, clenching his eyes shut and squeezing Sherlock's hand tightly.

'You went away! Why won't you go away?' he whimpered aloud.

Sherlock held John's hand tightly, rubbing his thumb in circles over the back of it. 'I know you probably can't hear me right now, but can you zone in on my voice? Not the fake one. Me. The real me. None of that is true, ok? None of it.'

'He says you're lying,' John sobbed. 'That you hate me. That I'm a fuck up. That my mind is damaged. My body too. Too many scars, physical and emotional. How could you possibly–' He paused, looking up at Sherlock with tearstained cheeks.

'Are you – are you saying that you still want me?' he choked out.

Sherlock gazed on at John, neither shaking his head nor nodding. 'I am the fuck up. I am the one with too many scars to count, emotional and physical. My mind is damaged beyond repair. The voice is lying.'

'He won't leave,' John sobbed. 'He... he wants me to end everything. And I know you would never tell me to do that, never. Because I know, deep down, even if you never truly loved me, you would never want me to harm myself. I just... I need some reassurance. Please, Sherlock. Help me. Make him go away.'

Sherlock's stomach plummeted to the ground at John's words. The voice had told John to end it? But that was what Sherlock was trying to prevent. John's death. John's pain.

'Come here.' He patted the space on the bed beside him. 'Come here and I will make him go away.'

John complied easily. He didn't care what Sherlock was going to do, he just wanted the voice to go away. He sat on the bed, his bad leg stretched out to keep the stitches from tearing. Silent tears fell down his cheeks as he waited for Sherlock to help him. To make the voice go away.

Sherlock leant forward and placed a sloppy, wet kiss to John's head. 'Leave him alone. He's mine, not yours. Leave my John alone.'

'He... He says that he was here for me when you weren't,' John swallowed, his cheeks flushing from the kiss. 'Which is stupid because you were ill, in a coma.'

'I was taken away from you, John. If it's anyone's fault it's Moriarty's. He only handed over half the antidote.' Sherlock placed another kiss on John's neck.

'He's a... what's the polite word for it?' John mused. His body shivered at Sherlock's tender kiss to his neck. The sensation was slowing his brain. The voice was dying. 'He's a... a manipulative bastard and he needs to die.'

'Then kill him,' Sherlock ordered. 'Kill him slowly and painfully.'

'Yes,' John growled. He could see it now. Moriarty his prisoner, tied and bound to be cut and tortured until he was broken, begging for death. And John would give it to him, but it wouldn't be painless. No. He would bleed him dry like the chicken he was.

Sherlock showered John in more kisses. 'That's it. Kill him for me, John. Kill him for me.'

_**You'd be no better than him if you did.  
**_  
_Don't care. Go the fuck away.  
_  
_**Monster.  
**_  
John gasped when Sherlock brushed his Adam's apple, nipping it gently. The voice disappeared momentarily. John gave a little whimper of approval, his hips bucking involuntarily.

Sherlock nipped John again. 'Shhh. See, it's ok now. I've got you.'

_**It will never be ok. He left you. Abandoned you. And look at yourself. Skin and bones, stitches in your leg, fresh cuts on your arms. Look at what he's done to you.  
**_  
'He's still there,' John choked out. 'The voice.'

Sherlock growled. 'I said leave my John alone.' He grabbed John's face and kissed him heavily.

_His John. He called me his John.  
_  
John melted into the kiss. He pulled Sherlock closer, opening his mouth so their tongues could slide against each other.

_Yes, Sherlock. I'm yours. Yours. And you're mine.  
_  
Sherlock carded a hand through John's hair, mashing his lips with John's harshly. The voice was fading, his Sherlock was winning. John began panting into Sherlock's mouth. He was achingly hard again, his hips rolling to try to get his cock some much needed friction. Sherlock crawled further up John and began bucking his hips albeit weakly against John.

John gasped and moaned, his hands flying to hold Sherlock's hips. He began bucking up against him, his erection rubbing against Sherlock's stomach. He was shaking again, but for a more pleasurable reason than before. Sherlock was lost in the moment. He couldn't bring himself to stop, not now. He wanted to rid John of that ridiculous voice and if this was his cure then so be it. He pressed himself closer and rutted harder and faster.

'Gah! Fuck!' John gasped, his hands clenching Sherlock's hips tightly. 'Yes, yes, yes! Don't stop. Close. Yes!'

Sherlock moved a hand to John's arousal and squeezed it tightly before plunging his tongue back into John's mouth. John gave a loud grunt before he came long and hard in his pants. He rocked against Sherlock's hand, wanting to prolong his pleasure. He sucked on Sherlock's tongue, his own sliding against it, caressing it. His body continued to shake as he came down from his high, aftershocks of pleasure shooting through him as Sherlock continued to squeeze him.

Sherlock squeezed one last time before releasing John's lips and rolling off of him. He himself hadn't cum. He really wanted to be touched but he wasn't the one in need of that sort of comfort; John was. John laid gasping and panting on the bed, a goofy smile plastered on his face. Holy fuck that felt good. And the voice was gone too. Even better. He opened his eyes to gaze at Sherlock, noticing that he was still hard. He purred and rolled over his, straddling him.

'I can fix that,' he whispered seductively. He placed a heated kiss to Sherlock's lips before sliding down his skinny frame. He pulled the flimsy trousers down and licked a thick, wet stripe up Sherlock's cock from base to tip.

Sherlock struggled to reign in his emotions. 'Stop,' he said under his breath, pushing John's head away from his member. 'Just stop.'

John looked up, confused and hurt. Didn't Sherlock want to cum? Or, was it John? Did Sherlock not want him at all?

_**Told you.  
**_  
_No. No! Go away! Please! Just go away.  
_  
_**No. You let me in. I'll be here to tell it to you straight forever. You can't get rid of me that easily.**_

_Fuck.  
_  
'I'm sorry,' Sherlock panted heavily. 'Don't take it to heart. I just can't go any further.'

'Why?' John choked on the small word.

_**Because he doesn't want you anymore. Get over it and move on already.  
**_  
'I'm tired,' he lied coolly. 'I've already had two releases in a short amount of time.'

'And another could help you sleep,' John protested.

_**Just stop. He clearly doesn't want it, or you. Just back the fuck off and make some more notches in your skin.  
**_  
'I... I understand,' John nodded slowly. 'I'm sorry.' He pulled Sherlock's trousers back up and moved off the bed, his bad leg protesting. He sat in the chair, his leg outstretched, watching but not watching Sherlock.

'I'm sorry,' Sherlock apologised once more. 'I'm just not in a good mindset at the moment.'

'And when you are, can I fin–' John cut himself off. He already knew what Sherlock's answer would be. 'Never mind. Just get some rest.' John closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of the chair, listening to the steady beeping of Sherlock's heart monitor.

Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes, not quite sleeping, but not quite awake either. His mind was spinning out of control. Faster and faster and faster. Memories of the past clashed heavily with the present. His dream world was still haunting him. His father was still out there waiting for him. Moriarty too. He just wanted it to stop, for his brain to slow down.

It was in that moment that he felt a familiar feeling he hadn't had for years. An itch spreading across his skin, curling underneath his flesh. It was an itch that wasn't going anywhere unless he got a fix. He moved his fingers over the skin and began scratching at it but it didn't help. He needed a fix. He needed a fix. God dammit he needed a fix. Why now? Why had his addiction come to taunt him now?

John's head lolled against the back of the chair, not wanting to fall asleep but not necessarily wanting to stay awake either. The voice had come back with a vengeance. Apparently it took particular enjoyment in taunting him when Sherlock rejected him. It would disappear when Sherlock showed any semblance of affection toward him, but the second he began to distance himself the voice returned.

John shifted in his sleep, falling forward onto Sherlock's bed. His head was close to Sherlock's hand and he desperately wanted his hand to card through his hair. But the hand never moved, the voice continued laughing at him, and he drifted off to a whole new batch of nightmares. Where Sherlock loathed his existence and decided to rid himself of the damaged and delusional John once and for all.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock woke with a start, inhaling a huge gulp of air to try and gather his wits.

Where was he? Oh yes. Hospital. Coma. John.

He gazed warmly at his sleeping flatmate, awkwardly sleeping half on the bed and reached across to stroke his hair. As he touched John, however, he noticed that his arm was bright red from where he'd been scratching it, almost bleeding even. Damn.

The voice was gone. The voice was gone. What happened to it?

Oh. Sherlock was petting his hair. And he was gently massaging his scalp. Oh. That felt good. He hummed and pushed his head closer to Sherlock's touch, still not quite awake or asleep. He just didn't want Sherlock to stop.

Sherlock ignored his red and near-bleeding arm and the persistent itching that was still taking place. He just concentrated on stroking John's hair gently, slowly waking the poor man up. That position he was sleeping in was most likely doing a number on his neck and back. Best to get him to sleep in a more comfortable one.

John purred and finally opened his eyes, gazing upon Sherlock with eyes full of affection and sleep.

'Hey,' he croaked.

'Hey yourself,' Sherlock grinned, continuing to pet John's hair.

John hummed again, closing his eyes and smiling gently. He pushed his head closer to Sherlock's hand, sighing in content.

'Feels good.'

'Come here then.' Sherlock brushed his fingertips over John's face. 'You'll hurt your neck and back sitting like that.'

John grunted, his back protesting as he pushed himself up on the bed. He laid his head by Sherlock's chest, his arm naturally draping across his waist. He hummed again, his back finally stretching out after being hunched over for god knows how long. Sherlock's hand was still carding through his hair, lulling John back to sleep. He was lost in the blissful place between consciousness and sleep, and his filter was completely gone here.

'Love you,' he mumbled, turning his head so his forehead was pressed against Sherlock's side. 'Love you.'

Sherlock hummed. 'I know,' he whispered. 'You love me too much.' Sherlock stopped petting John's hair for a minute. 'You should just stop. Stop any emotions to do with me. Just forget me.' He studied his arm closely and sighed. 'I'm dangerous.' The old track marks beyond the red were proof of that.

'No,' John mumbled. He tightened his hold around Sherlock's waist, pulling them closer together. 'Will never forget. Will never leave. Love you. Won't leave. I love you.' He nuzzled his nose against the material of Sherlock's shirt.

'And you're not dangerous,' he continued. 'I am. I've killed, many times over. I have so much blood on my hands. So much. I'm more dangerous than you.'

'If you believe that to be the truth then you are an idiot,' Sherlock scolded John. 'You are not dangerous. Whilst I am. You have no idea what I'm capable of.'

_Especially on drugs.  
_  
'Then I'm an idiot,' John pouted. 'Why'd you stop petting me?' He nudged his head against Sherlock's hand. 'And I was a soldier in the war, I killed people. I've killed for you. Tell me again how I'm not dangerous. I'm a murderer. And, to the best of my knowledge, you aren't.'

'I once accidentally trod on a snail,' Sherlock joked, but there was no humour in his voice. 'Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective by day and snail killer by night.' He pulled his arm away for a moment, giving it a good scratch before once again tending to John's hair.

'My cold-blooded killer,' John hummed, arching into Sherlock's touch. He settled against Sherlock's side, purring as he was pet lovingly.

'I wouldn't joke about it. I came very close to killing a man in my younger days,' Sherlock said, voice dark and deeper than usual.

'Oh,' John frowned. 'Do I want to know?'

'I almost stabbed a man. Don't tell my brother this, but it was for him.' Sherlock hummed. 'I was high, to be fair. I think the only reason I didn't go through with it was because I was both far younger than the bird-brained idiot and was slightly intimidated by him. And my father would have most certainly made my beating a double one if I got into such trouble.'

'Oh,' was all John could say. He'd had a feeling drugs had been involved. He tugged Sherlock close, pressing his nose in between two of his ribs.

'Oh? Is that all you can say? I have just told you I was prepared to kill a man.' Sherlock pulled his arm back with a grunt, once again scratching at the merciless itching.

'What do you want me to say?' John asked, sitting up on his elbows. 'I'm glad you didn't kill the bastard? Glad you took the high ground? Glad you thought things through before making such a drastic mistake as killing a man in cold blood?' He eyed Sherlock scratching his arm and frowned.

'What's this?' he asked, grabbing Sherlock's arm. He had been scratching it raw, some scratches having broken open and were bleeding. 'What's with the scratching? Are you... craving?'

Sherlock stared at John blankly and wriggled his arm out of his flatmate's grip.

'No,' he stated simply. 'I haven't in a long while. It's just a little itchy.'

'Do you want me to put some cream on it?' John asked. 'And I think some bandages would be good too, since some of those scratches are bleeding.'

The cream would do little to quell the itching but it would stop the scratches from getting infected so he nodded. 'I think, Doctor Watson, that bandaging my arm would be a good idea.'

'Ok.' John slid off the bed, groaning when his back twinged in protest. He stretched it out, cracking his neck before moving to the cabinets that held the extra medical supplies. He pulled out anti-itch cream and gauze bandages. He moved back to Sherlock, rubbing the cream over his scratches and then wrapping it up in the gauze.

'Try not to scratch through the bandages, ok?' John said. 'Not that I think you will, I'm just telling you not to.'

Sherlock nodded wordlessly, putting his sole concentration into not picking up the scratching again. He didn't want John to know that his cravings were back, though he suspected that he already knew.

'When did the scratching start?' John asked softly, sitting back on the bed. 'Recently?'

'Yes, recently,' Sherlock gulped and looked away from John. 'Nothing to worry about though.'

'I wasn't worrying,' John lied. 'Just curious. Because if we caught it early enough then maybe the itching won't be so severe.'

'Mmmm – maybe it won't be,' Sherlock clutched his arm to him, still not itching it but wanting to more and more with each passing second.

'Hey, it will be ok,' John said softly, taking Sherlock's bandaged arm and clasping his hand tightly. 'We'll work through this, just like we do everything else.'

'I'm not quite sure what you're implying. I have nothing to work through,' Sherlock replied defensively.

'Oh. So you don't need physical therapy to get the strength in your legs back?' John retorted sarcastically. 'That's what I was implying. Why? What did you think I was implying?'

'Oh.' Sherlock pursed his lips together. 'Nothing. My mistake.'

'Ah. I see,' John nodded. 'Maybe you should rest. I realise you've been asleep for four months, but I don't want you to lose sleep over it. Uh, I mean – just go to sleep. I will too. I'm sleeping better now that you're awake.'

Sherlock scootched as close as possible to John and smiled into his chest as he rested his head there.

'Night, John.'

'Goodnight, Sherlock,' John sighed. He ran his fingers through his hair before massaging his scalp.

_I love you._

* * *

Ok, so sorry for the angst and drama in this chapter. It'll get better eventually. But it'll get worse before it gets better. So prepare yourselves for that.

Classes begin Monday for me, but my first class isn't until 2 p.m. Hell yeah! But Tuesday I have a 9:30 a.m. class. Ugh. Still trying to decide what to wear my first day back. But that's not important right now. Still got a lot of unpacking and organising to do before I can worry about that.

See you all Monday!

TSA + IB


	28. Back in the Saddle

So I have officially completed my first day back to college/University! It was a relatively easy day seeing as all we did was go over the course and not really do any work. My Shakespeare class should definitely be easier this time around. The professor is young and passionate about the subject, and I think that will help immensely.

So, in celebration, here's the next chapter! I'll work on editing the next one so it can be posted on Friday.

_Warnings for this chapter: angst, depression, cutting, getting off in the shower, and lots of hurt feelings. Oh, and Anderson is a dick._

* * *

Chapter 28 – Back in the Saddle

Two months had passed since Sherlock had awoken.

Each day consisting in that time period had felt like an eternity and it had been a very trying time for both himself and John. Both of their nerves were grated and their relationship was more strained than ever. They stopped being physical with each other from the moment they got back to 221B. He supposed that had something to do with it. They were back to their respective rooms now too and neither of them were sleeping well. But Sherlock knew that it wasn't just the physical aspect – or rather the lack of it that was putting a strain on their relationship. It was him.

He had told John that it had been an experiment. That was like comparing John to the human fingers he'd put in the kettle the other day. John felt like a piece of used meat and Sherlock was the one who'd made him feel like that. That was wrong and selfish of him and he felt bloody awful about it. It was the furthest thing from the truth. He was lying about lying to John. That was a horrible irony that haunted Sherlock on a daily basis.

_I love you, John. Please see through my fa__ç__ade. Please see that I still love you.  
_  
He never did.

Sherlock's therapy had been hard and, as he had predicted, very tedious too. The muscle damage in his legs had been severe and had left him incredibly weak. On more than one occasion he had thought about quitting, about just giving up and staying bed bound and bored for the rest of his life.

He supposed it was John's pain that had spurred him on. John's pain was an unspoken thing between them, as was his cravings. It wasn't as though they tried to hide it from each other. Sherlock knew that there was still a great fight within John's mind. He knew that whenever John excused himself to go the bathroom or to bed early that he would be causing himself harm. There was little he could do to comfort him. John had stopped seeking his comfort a long time ago. John resented him.

As for his cravings, they were getting stronger by the day. Being out of action for so long because of his legs had given him time to think. Thinking was bad. He thought about his father, about how much he loved John, about how much it was killing him and John inside that they were becoming distant. About the life that he could have had with John, and about the life he would never allow himself to have. About his brother, and his mother, about how life used to be.

The itching in his arm from all that time ago was still writhing under his skin but John didn't say anything. It was a mutual understanding that they were dealing with what had happened in their own way, and so neither of them commented on any strange behavior they were both showing.

One day, however, Sherlock snapped.

His mind exploded.

He was sick of thinking.

He was sick of his cravings.

Sick of the pain and the tension.

Sick of being stuck in the flat 24/7.

He wanted out.

John had just trundled down the stairs. His face was tired and he was hobbling, and he had clearly been crying from the way his eyes looked red and puffy.

Sherlock was currently sat on the sofa playing his violin. His violin playing had become both a hateful thing and a reassurance to him. Hatful because it reminded him of his dream and caused him to go into his own little world, leaving John to fend his battles on his own like the coward he was. It was also quite reassuring to him too. It meant that he hadn't forgotten how to play her, that the dream wasn't true, and that the vision of him hurting John over an argument about his playing was not going to happen.

_John is safe... for now.  
_  
He glanced up at John, his bow stilling on the strings and sighed heavily. He reached for his cane, glaring hatefully at it all the while. Despite his therapy being rather successful so far, he was still too weak to walk on his own two legs. He needed the cane as support.

He pushed himself to his feet, placing his violin delicately down before walking over to where his trench coat had been flung in frustration over the back of one of the kitchen chairs.

'I'm going out,' he announced, his eyes avoiding John all the while. 'I'll be gone awhile.'

_I need a fix._

It'll make my mind slow down.

I won't have to deal with this anymore.

My mind will be able to relax.

I'm bored and hurting and John's hurting too.

One little fix wouldn't hurt.

I'll go find my old dealer.

I'll get my fix and when I return to the flat everything will be fine. It will all be fine.

No! Stop!

Not drugs.

Go and get a case from Greg.

You just need something to get your mind off of things.

About a week after Sherlock had woken up he was cleared to go home. The cab ride home had been tense and awkward. The two had barely spoken since Sherlock's 'I almost killed a man' confession. John honestly didn't know what to say around him anymore. Everything he wanted to say sounded too sentimental in his head, and Sherlock wouldn't have appreciated that. So, he just kept his mouth shut, too afraid of saying the wrong thing and pushing Sherlock away.

Mary had found Sherlock a suitable physiotherapist, one who had been warned beforehand about his spot-on and rather blunt deductions. He had lasted almost a month before he couldn't put up with him anymore. Thankfully, Mary had a back-up therapist in her pocket, and this one had lasted pretty well so far. Sherlock was getting better every day, he had even begun to use a cane instead of a wheelchair. And the wheelchair had been awkward to use around the flat, so the cane allowed him to move around a lot better.

But what was really bothering him was what Mary had said to him when she had pulled him aside before Sherlock left. She had said they were good for each other, that she was glad John had finally found someone who made him happy. She was obviously blind. Sherlock didn't love him, he never had. But he didn't tell Mary that. He simply thanked her, wished her luck in her own love life, and walked away. But her words continued to play in his mind, the fake Sherlock twisting them out of proportion to suit his taunting needs. But, if Mary had seen something, did Sherlock still care about him? Did he love him?

The voice kept telling him no, he never did and he never would. Who could ever love poor, damaged John Watson? Who would understand everything he'd gone through? Everything he'd done to himself? He'd taken to slashing his thighs and wrists on a daily basis, fighting his feelings for his flatmate. If he felt even the slightest twinge of affection or sentiment toward Sherlock he would excuse himself and cut into himself until he went numb. He knew Sherlock knew, but John couldn't stop. Wouldn't stop. He needed to do it like he needed air, which he knew was unhealthy but he didn't care. If Sherlock wouldn't accept his feelings then he would just kill them. He no longer got hard around Sherlock either. That had ended almost two weeks into their coming home. His body had learned that pain followed becoming erect, so he no longer did. It had been almost a month since he'd had an erection, and he no longer had to cut so deep into his thighs to stop it.

The voice was still plaguing him. Only now it wasn't just a voice. Now it would appear to him as a twisted and demented form of his flatmate and former love. He looked dirty, unkempt, his eyes dead and void of any emotion. He looked like he was on drugs. And he would sit on John's bed while he tried to sleep, whispering insults at him.

_**Worthless.**_

Failure.

Fat fuck.

Starve yourself.

Gorge yourself.

Dig that blade deeper into your skin. See if you can nick the artery. Go ahead. Do it. You know you want to.

What hurt though was that John was back in his upstairs bedroom, alone, constantly. It hurt to go up and down the stairs, not only because his leg would act up every now and again but from the cuts. They would tear and pull whenever he walked the stairs, bleeding through his pyjama trousers until he bandaged them and put on a fresh set of clothes. Some days, when his legs were particularly bad, he would sleep downstairs in the sitting room, propped up in his chair covered by a blanket.

That was where he was when Sherlock announced he was going out, grabbing his cane and his coat before trudging out the door and outside. John simply sat in his chair, sipping at the tea he had just made, trying not to worry about what Sherlock was going to do. He feared Sherlock was getting back into the drugs, that he had been having cravings since he had woken, since he had bandaged the scratches. But he wanted to give Sherlock the benefit of the doubt, that he was going to the Yard to beg Lestrade for a cold case to occupy his mind. Because sitting in the flat for two months with absolutely nothing to do but think was incredibly dangerous for Sherlock. John just hoped Sherlock was being smart.

Nothing seemed to be going right for Sherlock anymore.

It took him almost twenty minutes to summon a cab. He guessed no one wanted to take in a crippled man. Idiots. He suddenly felt rather bad for the John he had first met. When he did get a cab the cabbie was unusually chatty and cheerful. How utterly hateful. He kept on telling him about the weather and how Britain was supposed to be going into some form of ice age. What dull lives people lead. He just sat there moodily until the cab had reached his destination. He then proceeded to throw far too many notes at the cabbie before exiting.

'Scotland Yard here I come,' he mumbled miserably under his breath as he headed straight for Lestrade's office. 'He better bloody give me a case.'

If he wasn't given a case he knew he'd do something stupid. He needed a distraction from his life. He didn't care what that was.

Lestrade was sat at his desk, signing a slew of paperwork. Too many of his officers were fucking up lately. Making simple mistakes that caused a load of paperwork to be filled out explaining what had happened and why. He sat back in his chair, closing his eyes and cracking his wrist. It was stiff from writing the same name over and over. He really needed to invest in getting a stamp of his signature.

His door opened suddenly and he groaned.

'Donovan, if this is more paperwork, shred it. I am sick and tired of this shit.' He opened his eyes and saw, much to his surprise, that it was Sherlock standing there and not his sergeant.

'Oh. Hullo Sherlock. What brings you here? Where's John?'

'Not here. Obviously,' Sherlock replied, sounding both bitter and tired.

He hobbled in to the office and over to the D.I.'s desk. 'I need a case,' he stated bluntly.

'A case?' Greg asked. 'Are you sure you're ready for one? I mean, physically. I'm sure your mind is more than ready for one.'

'I'm not a complete cripple!' Sherlock shouted, irritation running through him like wildfire.

'Give me a case, now.' His eyes widened and his nostrils flared. 'I am going insane cooped up in my flat.'

'Whoa. Easy there,' Lestrade said calmly. 'Sorry. I'm just worried about you is all. As for the case, I'll see if I can get you some cold cases, alright?'

Sherlock sighed heavily and his face fell. 'I suppose a few cold cases will have to do.'

'Look, Sherlock, I'm sorry, but a cold case is the best I can do right now,' Greg sighed. He stood up and moved to the front of his desk, squeezing Sherlock's shoulder. 'Until you're done with your therapy I can't allow you back to crime scenes. I'll go through our files and pull out a few, ok? Stay here.'

'Fine,' Sherlock sighed again as Lestrade took his leave.

His legs felt useless beneath him as he stood.

_Perhaps I should sit down.  
_  
Sherlock made his slow journey to Lestrade's chair behind the desk that was piled up high with paperwork.

He let his head fall in his hands. 'Stupid things,' he cursed his limbs for still being weak.

Greg made his way to the archives, scanning the shelves for interesting cases. He pulled down two, one a triple homicide the other a murder-robbery. He made his way back to his office, the boxes in his arms.

'Sir? What are you doing?' Donovan asked.

'Giving Holmes some cold cases,' he stated simply. 'He needs a distraction after everything.'

'Are you sure that's a good idea?'

'It's not like he's going to a crime scene, Donovan,' Greg sighed. 'Just, let him be. He needs this. Trust me.'

'Yes sir,' Donovan nodded, leaving to get a cup of coffee.

Greg returned to his office, setting the files on his desk.

'Here ya go,' he said. 'Triple homicide and a murder-robbery. Have fun.' He smiled gently before realising Sherlock was staring dejectedly at his legs.

'Hey. Do you want some help getting these into a cab? Or will you be ok?'

'I'll be fine,' Sherlock replied in a small voice. He propped himself up and leaned on his cane. 'Thank you, Lestrade. I best be going.'

'Ok. Hey.' He grabbed Sherlock's arm gently. 'Give John my best. And I hope you recover soon. I... The crimes are better with you around. My officers are all idiots without you here.'

Sherlock's lips quivered into a small smile. 'Indeed, they truly are idiots.' He picked up the files Greg had given him. 'Again. Thank you. I'm not sure I could have gone on for much longer. It's too quiet in the flat. Much too quiet.'

'Well, thanks for coming to me before you resorted to shooting the walls,' Greg smiled weakly. 'Shall I see you out?' He held his office door open for Sherlock, giving him a soft smile.

'That would be nice,' Sherlock said with a small grunt as he started to walk.

Greg nodded and followed Sherlock through the Yard, holding doors open for him and making awkward small talk.

'So, I see the physical therapy is going well,' he offered. 'It's good to see you up and about, you know?'

Sherlock stopped and stared at Lestrade. 'What's with the small talk?'

'I, uh...' Greg stammered. 'It's just to pass the time I suppose. And, I want to know how you've been. Haven't seen you in a while.'

'How I've been?' Sherlock mumbled under his breath with a loud sigh. 'Fine. Just perfect.'

'Sherlock, you may think I'm a shit detective, but it's pretty obvious that you aren't fine,' Greg sighed. 'I also know that you don't want to talk about it, so I'll let it go for now.'

He helped Sherlock flag down a cab, leaning against the window before the cab could drive off.

'If you finish those cases quickly call me and I'll send some more over, alright?'

Sherlock nodded, looking away from the D.I. 'I will most likely have them solved within the hour.'

'Then I'll be sure to have more ready and waiting,' Greg nodded. 'Have fun with those. And give John my best.' He nodded to the cabbie and watched the cab drive away before heading back to the Yard.

'"Give John my best?"' he muttered to himself begrudgingly, heading back inside and for his office. 'You know things are strained between them. How much more of an idiot could you be?'

He sat at his desk, staring at the pile of paperwork atop it.

'I am definitely investing in a stamp,' he grumbled.

Sherlock's journey back to 221B was at least a little better than the one to the Yard. The cabbie was silent and it allowed him to think and prepare himself to walk back into the tense atmosphere at the flat. When he reached his destination he handed the fare over and got out with a little difficulty, his legs feeling weak even now. Clutching the files to his chest he made his way back into the flat and closed the door behind him.

John looked up from his newspaper when he heard the door close. Sherlock was back.

_Please don't be high. Please don't be high. Please don't be high.  
_  
The man in question, thankfully, was not high. He had acquired files from the Yard. Probably cold cases that he'd solve pretty quickly. Then he'd be bored again and he'd beg Greg for more.

'Cold cases?' John asked, already knowing what they were. 'I made tea if you want some.'

Sherlock blinked in surprise. He'd almost forgotten what John's voice was like. It was like heaven to his ears to hear that soft and warm voice.

He gave John something akin to a smile. 'Tea would be nice, and yes. I got them off Lestrade. It feels so good to finally be doing something.'

'Good,' John smiled. He set his newspaper down and tried his best not to hobble over to the kettle. His leg was pretty bad, and he blamed the weather. It always acted up when the weather was bad. One look out the window killed that theory dead.

It was sunny and bright, a gentle breeze blowing the curtains.

Shit. So it was his own actions then. He really did need to stop. Maybe then things could return to normal. Because he'd told himself that he was tired of the silent, awkward tension surrounding the flat. He was going to show Sherlock that they could still be friends after everything they'd been through the past two months. Everything was going to be fine.

He poured the tea, adding some honey and sugar to Sherlock's. He passed him his mug, their fingers brushing as Sherlock accepted it. John brushed it off, trying to stop his blush from creeping up his neck and cheeks. He returned to his armchair, picking his newspaper back up and reading through it, not really absorbing the information.

That brush of fingers was the first bodily contact he'd had with Sherlock in two months.

Sherlock shivered and stared at his fingers, trying to slow his heart down. It had only been a brief touch but it was enough to spark a deep and terribly human feeling of lust within him. His trousers had tightened and he swallowed down hard as he made his awkward journey to his own chair, holding the files in one hand and his cup of tea in the other. He sat down and crossed his legs to try and hide his problem. It would do nothing but cause more pain and confusion if John found out. He noticed that John wasn't in the same situation. His heart dropped in his chest. Didn't he affect John anymore?

John idly sipped at his tea, thumbing through the paper before folding it up and setting it down with a defeated sigh. He couldn't concentrate. That brief touch was replaying in his mind, slowed down to enhance every detail. He rested his head on his hand, his fingers absently stroking his lips. He noted that Sherlock looked flustered and a bit red in the face. His trousers looked tight and John blushed. Sherlock was hard? John could still affect him like that, even after they had 'broken up?' John wasn't hard though. He had practically trained his prick to stay flaccid with those deep cuts he'd slashed in his thigh. Now he felt guilty. What if they became intimate again and he couldn't get it up?

No. They would never be intimate again. Sherlock had told him so after their time in the hospital. John frowned, pulling his hand away from his face. He stood up slowly, not wanting to irritate his leg.

'I'm gonna make some toast and jam. Would you– No. You're on a case. You don't want to eat. Slows you down.' He shook his head and hobbled into the kitchen, putting two slices of toast in the toaster. He turned his head to Sherlock when he heard him shift in his seat, a small sound very akin to a whimper escaping from his flatmate's lips. Sherlock made a grunt in the back of his throat in answer to John's question. He shifted in his seat and continued to whimper.

He couldn't think. Which was good he supposed. After all, that is exactly what he'd been aiming for. However, he needed to think a little to solve the cold cases Lestrade had given him and he had said he'd solve them within the hour...

He needed the problem gone and now.

He grabbed his cane and once again stood to his feet. He felt guilty about what he was going to do to solve his problem but he pushed that guilt aside as he headed for the bathroom.

John watched Sherlock leave, blinking when he heard the bathroom door close and the shower turn on. What on earth was he doing? Was this a new physical therapy thing that he was actually following? Or was he wanking?

John shrugged, giving Sherlock the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he just wanted to take a shower. The toast popped up and John spread the jam over the slices, plopping back down in his chair as he took a huge bite of toast.

Sherlock stripped off his clothes and struggled into the shower. 'Time to make you go away,' he grumbled to his cock, wrapping his fingers around it. As he ran his hand up and down he bit back moans, quite unsuccessfully. How anyone could do this silently was a mystery to him. It was no good though. His hand was useless. It wasn't John's. It didn't feel right. And his erection was going nowhere.

He sighed as he resorted to picturing John's hand instead. That helped a little. 'Oh, John,' he groaned rather loudly despite his best efforts to disguise what he was doing.

John's head snapped up at the sound of his name. It wasn't just that though; it was how it was said. Sherlock had moaned it like a cat in heat, or a woman in a really bad porno. Oh god.

He was wanking.

John's heart fell. Sherlock was actually wanking? Thinking of John and wanking? John wiped the jam off his chin, sucking it off his fingers before he stood up to investigate. He didn't even knock on the door, just opened it silently and creeped inside. Sherlock was moaning his name still, and John could hear the slick sounds of hand on cock. He swallowed, his heart breaking.

He peeled the curtain back, his heart full on stopping at the sight before him.

Sherlock had his head thrown back, eyes closed, leaning against the wall. One hand was on his cock, the other holding him up. He was moaning John's name, his hand working fast. He was close, John could tell. John remembered. Before he knew what he was doing, John opened his mouth.

'Do you want a hand?' _Or a mouth?_

Sherlock's eyes snapped open in terror when he heard John's voice. He let go of his still aching prick and swallowed. Before he could so much as think of what to say his lips were speaking for him.

'God yes!'

John's heart began beating again, furiously fast and achingly so. His pupils dilated and he reached for Sherlock's achingly hard prick before he could stop himself. He stroked fast and squeezed hard, working Sherlock into a gasping, writhing mess. Sherlock groaned and slid further down the wall. He never wanted this to end. It would seem his body had other ideas however, as he found himself cumming abruptly. John worked Sherlock through his orgasm, squeezing him gently. It was over far too quickly, and now it was awkward. John blushed deeply, removing his hand as Sherlock sank down in the shower. He excused himself, running up the stairs and slamming his bedroom door shut.

What the hell had just happened? He'd gotten Sherlock off after two months of nothing. No contact, barely any speaking, and nothing resembling intimacy. And yet John had just wanked Sherlock to completion.

John groaned and covered his face with his hands, sinking down to the floor by his bed. He knew what he had to do, what he wanted to do, and what he should do. He had to talk to Sherlock, he wanted to ignore the situation, but he should definitely talk to Sherlock.

No. Talking about it would make it real.

John pulled the box out from under his bed, opening it and pulling out the razor. He gave himself a cut for being so stupid, one for investigating what Sherlock was doing, one for touching Sherlock, one for getting him off, one for running away, and one for brushing his fingers when he passed him his mug. If they hadn't touched none of this would have happened.

Six fresh cuts bled dark red on his forearm, six fresh cuts to remind him of how much of a fool he was. He put an anti-bacterial cream on them and bandaged them up. Now that the weather was finally warming up it would be harder to hide his cutting. He decided on a soft cardigan, planning on saying it was chilly in the flat should Sherlock ask.

He put the box back and headed back downstairs. Sherlock had moved into his room, the cold case files still open on the floor. John made another pot of tea, falling back on the British way of dealing with an existential crisis. Whether he drank the tea or not, at least he would have a warm mug in his hands to comfort him.

Now to wait for Sherlock to return and see how tense and awkward the situation would be, or if they would both ignore it. John didn't know which was worse at the moment.

Sherlock got dressed at an unbearably slow rate. He wanted to give both himself and John some time to comprehend what had just happened between them. What had just happened?

_I used John, that's what happened. I used him to fulfill my body's sexual needs. I didn't give him an explanation as to why I was wanking whilst moaning his name. He didn't ask for one though._

So? I should have at least spoken to him about it first, and if not before then after. Instead, I just stood there, sliding down the shower, mouth agape like a bloody fish.

Or I could have turned him down. I should have turned him down.

God knows what he's thinking now.

If he's feeling anything like me he's probably very confused and hurting.

He finally pulled on some clothes. He wore a pair of casual jeans and the black t-shirt and hoodie John had bought him on their shopping trip. Then he crept out of his bedroom and walked back to his chair. The only sound that could be heard was the light thud of his cane on the floor. He sat down silently and looked at John before looking away again. He wasn't sure what to say right now. Though he knew he should say something. What though? What could he possibly say that would explain or justify his actions back in the bathroom? Nothing could. He knew that.

So instead of saying anything he picked up the files that he had chucked on the floor and began deducing the answers to the unsolved cases.

_Ignoring it it is then,_ John nodded to himself. _Works for me._ He sipped at his tea quietly, moving over to the table to open his laptop and idly surf the web. He had stopped visiting the fan sites. They still, what was the word? Oh yeah, shipped. The fans still shipped the two of them hardcore. They hadn't even announced that they were together, not that the fans needed confirmation that they were. They were still crazy about them. Johnlock was what they were called. Interesting name.

John looked at Sherlock reading through the cases out of the corner of his eye. He was intently focused on the files, flipping through the photos and the evidence and the testimonies. He'd probably be done with them within the hour. John checked his watch. Forty minutes to go.

Sherlock's mind zoned in on case mode. They were simple cases and it was really rather appalling that Lestrade and his men couldn't put the pieces of the puzzles together. In the end it only took him another twenty five minutes to solve all of them.

'Idiots!' he shouted, startling John out of his wits. He threw the case files down and exhaled loudly. 'Utter idiots, John. Trained monkeys could do better than some of the officers at the Yard. No wonder Lestrade isn't coping without me there.'

'Since when is that new?' John smiled. 'Solved the cold cases then?' He checked his watch. Only forty five minutes. Almost a new record. Especially since he solved two in that time frame.

'There was nothing to solve.' Sherlock returned the smile. 'Dear me, Lestrade will have to try far harder when picking out my next lot of cases.'

'Shall we return to the Yard and demand a challenge?' John smirked. His phone buzzed before Sherlock could answer. John pulled it out of his pocket and laughed.

'Speak of the devil,' he grinned. 'Hey Greg. We were just talking about you. Sherlock's finished those cases already. We demand you give him a challenge.'

'Be careful what you ask for,' the D.I. sighed. 'There's some new evidence in Sherlock's case. And, I want you to come and look it over. Don't tell Sherlock. I don't want to worry him.

'If it's his case then shouldn't he look it over?'

'No. There was another attack. Some poor sap who looks like Sherlock got the shit beat out of him. We think it's Moriarty's doing. I want you to come over and compare injuries. Just you. Please.'

'I don't know.' John looked up at Sherlock and held up a hand. 'I'm not sure I'll be able to swing that.'

'Just say you're going to Tesco's. You know he won't follow.'

'Ugh. Fine. I'll be there soon.' He hung up and rubbed at his eyes. He already knew that Sherlock wouldn't buy the Tesco's bit. The man already knew that Greg had called him. He would know something was up. He turned to look at Sherlock, the man practically vibrating in his seat.

'There's some new evidence in your case,' he said slowly. 'Greg wants me to take a look. And he wants you to stay here.'

'What?' Sherlock frowned. 'But it's my case. Why would he–' He sighed as a realisation hit him and rolled his eyes. 'Honestly, I swear Lestrade thinks I'm suddenly made of glass. Just because I can barely walk doesn't mean I'm suddenly an unstable idiot.'

He stood to his feet, grabbing his cane. He didn't even bother grabbing his coat. He'd be just fine in his hoodie. 'Right, I'm off to see if I can't get to the bottom of this. You, um,' Sherlock waved his hands around in the air, 'do whatever you normally do,' he ended awkwardly.

'What? Whoa, whoa, whoa. Stop.' John stood to his feet, blocking the door. 'You are not going alone. Greg asked me to come, so I'm going to go. You are more than welcome to come with me though.'

'You?' Sherlock questioned. 'Why would he need you to look into my case? I'm perfectly capable of doing this alone.'

The fact was Sherlock needed the time alone out of the flat to clear his head. It seemed cruel but the only time he could be himself was when he wasn't with John. At the moment it seemed he was having to keep up a totally false persona in front of his flatmate. He just needed a break. From everything.

'Some poor sod got the shit beat out of him and Greg wanted me to compare injuries,' John said. 'And he probably wants to interview him when he comes to. If he isn't dead that is.'

Sherlock ran a hand down his face and nodded in defeat. 'Fine. You can come. Just don't get under my feet.'

_That may have come out a little harsher than I intended._

'Fine,' John agreed. He walked quickly down the stairs and outside, trying to hail a cab while he waited for Sherlock to join him. John was still trying to hail a cab when Sherlock finally made his way down the stairs.

'The cabs just aren't playing nice today,' he mumbled close to John's ear.

'No, they really aren't,' John grumbled, trying to cover up the shudder from travelling down his spine. Sherlock's voice had been deliciously close, and it was low and gravely like... well, like he'd just had sex. Which he sort of had, but John didn't want to think about it. It was too soon, too awkward.

'Maybe we'd have better luck if we went down to the end of the street. Maybe then they'd see us.'

Sherlock hummed and he supposed old habits died hard as his hand found its way to the small of John's back.

'Let's do that.'

John found himself leaning into Sherlock's touch as he made his way down the street. When Sherlock's hand left his back John reached out and clasped it, not thinking. Sherlock didn't have the heart to pull his hand away. This was the happiest he'd seen John in a long while. So instead he gave the hand now locked in his a light squeeze and called for a taxi. John squeezed Sherlock's hand back, a small smile creeping onto his face. His heart felt whole for the first time in months. He never wanted the feeling to end.

A taxi finally pulled up and Sherlock pulled away. He got into the cab slowly, sliding across the seat. John sat next to him, telling the cabbie to go to the Yard. John didn't take Sherlock's hand again, but he desperately wanted to. His hand twitched in his lap, his fingers curling in search of Sherlock's familiar hand. The cab ride was silent and tense. John hated that this what they had become.

Sherlock tapped his knee impatiently. 'Bloody London traffic.' He broke the tense silence and attempted a smile in John's direction. 'We should really invest in a motorbike. I can bet you we'd be there by now.' Ironically, a motorbike zoomed past the taxi cab. 'See?'

'Haven't ridden one in years,' John said, attempting a smile.

'I had one once. Bloody crashed her when I was high,' Sherlock pouted. 'She was gorgeous.'

'Mine was too,' John sighed, staring out the window as another bike passed by. 'I had to sell her before I was shipped off. Some punk ass kid bought her. Probably didn't even take care of her, the little shit. She's probably gone by now. Rotting in a junkyard.'

'I'll buy you a new one if you like,' Sherlock offered.

_It's the least I can do after all the pain I've caused you._

'I couldn't ask you to do that,' John sighed. 'Where would we keep her, anyway? It's not like we have a garage.'

'I have my ways,' Sherlock smirked. 'And I insist on buying you one.'

'If it will help you sleep at night, go ahead,' John sighed.

_I bet you'd like to see me in leather, wouldn't you?_ he smirked to himself. _Come to think of it, seeing __**you**__ in leather would be – good god – absolutely delicious._ He hummed at the image forming in his mind. The two of them in leather riding outfits, riding the London streets astride a gorgeous bike, happy and smiling. A sharp pain suddenly hit his thigh and he clenched it tightly. He had been getting an erection at the thought of Sherlock in leather, and his body had done its job in reminding his prick not to react. Good.

Sherlock frowned and looked away from John. 'No.' His jaw locked. 'That won't help me sleep.'

Guilt bubbled in his gut as he leant his head against the window, closing his eyes.

_I don't sleep. Not anymore. I can't. Not with the knowledge of what I am doing to you in my mind. Nothing I do can possibly make up for what I've put you through. I owe you a million apologies._

The itching in his arm decided to pick up once more and he pushed a hand up his hoodie's sleeve, itching at it angrily.

'Then why would you buy me one?' John asked dejectedly.

'Because I know it'll make you happy,' Sherlock replied softly.

'Yeah, it would,' John smiled softly. They arrived at the Yard then, John paying the cabbie and stepping out. He moved over to Sherlock's door and opened it, helping him out.

'Thank you.' Sherlock stood to his feet gingerly. 'Now, let's go. Scotland Yard awaits.'

'You're welcome,' John smiled gingerly. He left his hand on the small of Sherlock's back, his fingers curling against the fabric of the hoodie. He still loved seeing it on Sherlock. He looked absolutely gorgeous in it. He opened the door to the Yard, leading Sherlock to Lestrade's office. Lestrade looked up when his door opened, groaning when he saw Sherlock with John.

'I thought I asked you to come alone.'

'I thought I told you it was his case and he should be here for it.'

Greg scowled. 'Ugh. Fine. Here.' He passed over the file of the victim. 'Richard Oswald, twenty nine, dropped off at the hospital beaten and bloody. Well, I say dropped off. He was thrown from a black van, which then sped off into the night. No plates, so there's no way of tracking it or the driver.'

Sherlock hummed. 'Naturally. If this is Moriarty he'll be wanting to keep a low profile.' He scanned the pictures frantically with his eyes and swallowed down hard.

The victim looked uncanny to himself. He was tall, lanky, had sharp features, and a set of dark curls.

'Is he still alive?' John asked. 'His injuries look pretty bad.'

'He is for now,' Greg said. 'He suffered many lacerations, broken ribs, and his shoulder was dislocated, not to mention the extensive amount of internal bleeding.'

Sherlock paled and made a small wheezing sound in the back of his throat. 'I–' He shook his head to steady his thoughts. 'I suggest we compare my injuries from my attack with his, now.'

Lestrade handed John the files and John laid out the photos side by side. The injuries were almost exactly identical. Except for one small detail.

'Sherlock, he carved "I.O.U." into his back. What does that mean?' John asked.

A chill ran through Sherlock's whole body. 'Not sure yet. It's about as meaningless as Moriarty's name was on our first case. We'll figure it out.'

John looked at the photos of Sherlock's scars, a thought plaguing his mind.

'Greg, who else has seen these photos?' he asked.

'Of Sherlock's back? Just me,' Greg said. 'I think.'

'You think?' John asked. 'Greg, that's not the right answer.'

Sherlock's lip trembled a little and he felt his heart beating impossibly fast. 'What do my scars have to do with this case?' he questioned sharply, composing himself. 'They're from a set of incidents that happened in my past. They are not connected.'

'Look, I'm not the one who took the photos,' Greg sighed. 'Maybe the photographer did. I don't know.'

'I don't care who took them. Just destroy them!' Sherlock snapped. 'Destroy them all!'

'Of course,' Greg agreed. He snatched the photos from John's hands and immediately ran them through his shredder. 'Sorry about that.'

'It's fine.' Sherlock let out a breath he'd been holding. 'Sorry for snapping. I just don't want anyone else knowing about them.'

'I can understand that,' Greg nodded. 'Again, I apologise for the photos. But I'm pretty sure I was the only one who saw them.'

'Pretty sure isn't good enough,' John scowled. 'Think back. Did anyone other than yourself view the case file?'

Greg paused and racked his memory. He paled and swallowed. 'I, uh, gave the files to Donovan. To file away, I swear. Whether she looked through it or not after that I don't know.'

'Greg, if Sally knows then you can bet your bottom dollar that she told Anderson,' John snapped.

'Look, I don't know if she did or not,' Greg said defensively. 'She hasn't said anything about it, so I highly doubt she has.'

All the fear within Sherlock that had momentarily gone came flooding back. He closed his eyes and breathed through his nose, a small whimper coming from his lips. John and Greg continued to argue. Neither one really knew what they were arguing about anymore but they just needed to yell.

John because he was frustrated and confused about Sherlock and their actions not so long ago.

Greg because Mycroft was binge eating again and they hadn't slept together in weeks.

'Shut up!' Sherlock screamed at the top of his lungs, holding his hands over his ears. John and Greg both turned to face Sherlock, fuming and panting. Greg flopped back in his chair and ran a hand down his face. John instantly went to Sherlock's side, placing a hand on his bicep and squeezing it gently.

Sherlock turned to face John, his eyes tired and heavy with emotion. 'I swear if Anderson has seen them–' he said, his voice barely a whisper.

'If he has I promise to punch him in the face,' John said. 'Promise.'

He glanced to Greg. He just waved him off. Greg had been wanting to punch Anderson for a while now. The only reason he didn't was because he didn't want to have to explain to his superiors that he did it because he was 'being a pretentious and ignorant dick.'

Sherlock broke out into a grin. 'That's something I would like to see. Can you do it either way?'

'I can try,' John grinned, his hand sliding down Sherlock's arm to clasp his hand. Greg simply blinked.

_Are they really broken up? Because they still look like a couple.  
_  
Sherlock laughed. 'Oh, you brilliant man.' He tugged John closer to him and gripped his hand tightly. John wrapped his free arm around Sherlock in a tender hug, smiling genuinely for the first time in months. God he loved that man. So much. Sherlock smiled into John's hair and wrapped his own free arm around him in the embrace.

_I love you too. If only you knew.  
_  
'Guys, I'm happy that your relationship isn't so... strained anymore, but come on,' Greg sighed. 'Go interview the guy at the hospital. He should be awake by now. But go easy on him. He was only beaten half to death this morning.'

Sherlock reluctantly released John from the hug but still kept ahold of his hand.

'Come on.' He tugged John gently.

_Are things better between us?_

Has John forgiven me?

Are we finally ok?

'Thanks Greg. We'll report back soon,' John said as Sherlock dragged him away. He clutched his hand tightly, even going so far as to lace their fingers together.

'Lovestruck gits,' Greg smiled when they left.

'It's nice to be back in the saddle, isn't it?' Sherlock asked, pulling John along behind him through the corridors of the yard as fast as he could.

'God yes it does,' John grinned, trotting along behind Sherlock, a wide grin on his face.

_God, I want to snog you so fucking bad right now. Stick my tongue down your throat, caress your tongue with mine, snog you until we're both breathless.  
_  
Sherlock giggled and planted a kiss upon John's head, not thinking.

_Oh god, how I wish you knew how much I love you. I wish you'd kiss me on the lips right now.  
_

John stopped walking. He clenched Sherlock's hand tightly, making him stop and turn around. His breathing had deepened significantly, and he could feel his pupils had dilated.

Sherlock had kissed him. Voluntarily kissed him for the first time in months.

He acted without thinking, pulling Sherlock close by the hand he was already clasping, his other hand clutching the back of Sherlock's neck, and pulled him in for an open-mouthed kiss. Sherlock gasped, taken aback from John's actions. He found himself getting hard again as John attacked his lips.

He pulled away with a grunt. 'John, I–' He took a deep breath. 'Never mind. We shall talk about this later.'

_Time to tell John the truth.  
_  
'I'm sorry,' John said, pulling back and swallowing. He tried very hard not to lick his lips to taste Sherlock on them. He failed, his tongue delving out to swing across his upper lip then down to his lower. God, even Sherlock's saliva was nearly arousing to him.

'I... I don't know what I was thinking,' he continued. 'Forgive me. I... I know you don't... I'm sorry.' He released Sherlock's hand and continued walking to the exit, throwing the doors open in frustration.

Why did he have to be such a fucking idiot? Why did he have to ruin everything? He dug his thumb into his fresh cuts, the pain numbing everything.

Sherlock shook his head before taking after John. He grabbed his arms and pulled him flush against himself. 'There is nothing to forgive, you idiot. It's fine, really.'

'No. No, it's not,' John sighed, shaking his head. 'I kissed you, Sherlock. And I know full well how you feel about... us. So, no. It's not fine. I was an idiot, I wasn't thinking, and I'm so sorry.'

'I'm not entirely sure how you know how I've been feeling.' Sherlock pressed his erection into John.

'Oh, I deduced that when I got you off in the shower earlier,' John said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

'I don't just mean sexually frustrated.' Sherlock placed another kiss upon John's head.

'Sexually confused, then?' John offered. 'Because I certainly am. You made it pretty clear about your actions being purely for science. So what the hell is going on?'

Sherlock sighed. 'I've been doing a lot of lying to you. I can't explain it to you now. We'll chat when we get back to the flat.'

'Wait, you've been lying to me?' John asked incredulously, grabbing Sherlock's arm to stop him from walking away. 'Sherlock, you don't just get to drop a bomb like that and simply walk away. It doesn't work like that. How much has been a lie? Tell me that much.'

'Everything I said since I woke up.' Sherlock looked away from John in shame.

John's jaw dropped. 'The experiment excuse? The whole you never loved me ploy? Everything you said to get me to let you go, get over you, move on, was all a _lie?!_' John screeched. He had never screeched in his life, and it was only fitting Sherlock was the one to make him do it.

'Yes,' Sherlock said in a hushed whisper. 'I lied to you about all that. It was all an act.'

'Why, Sherlock?' John asked, his lower lip beginning to tremble. 'Why would you put me through that? Why would you lie to me, for _two goddamn months_, having me believe you never loved me? Why would you break my heart like that? Why? _Why?_'

Tears of rage, hurt, and sorrow ran down John's cheeks freely. His body was trembling, begging him for relief from his emotional pain. He needed physical pain to make himself numb. He needed to be numb so he could absorb this information and process it. He needed to get away. But he was frozen to the spot, refusing to move until Sherlock either gave him some answers or walked away.

'Because it was better to lie to you than the alternative!' Sherlock screamed.

Tears rocketed down his face, thick and heavy. His entire body was shaking too, except his situation was far graver. His legs, still so weak, trembled and he could feel his knees buckling beneath him. Before he knew what was happening he had landed face first on the ground and was sobbing into the concrete.

'Oh for fuck's sake!' John screamed to the sky. He groaned loudly and scrambled to sit Sherlock up least.

'What would the alternative be in our case?' he demanded, ignoring both their tears. 'And you better give me a fucking good reason Sherlock, or I swear to god I'll hail a cab and leave you here to bitch and moan until Lestrade comes out to see what all the ruckus is. So, tell me. Why the lies? What could be so bad you had to break my fucking heart to protect me from it?'

'I was selfish I suppose,' Sherlock bit back. 'I didn't want my heart to break.' He glanced up at John's angered expression. 'You're my heart, John.'

'Tell me something I don't know,' John snapped. 'You're the brains, I'm the heart, what else is new?'

Sherlock wiggled away from John. 'Nothing,' he mumbled dumbly. 'Come on. Hate me all you like but there is a man in the hospital that needs to be questioned.'

He tried to scrabble to his feet but his legs had decided to stop working altogether now and he only fell back down to the ground.

'Ok, you start physical therapy again in the morning,' John groaned, helping Sherlock to his feet. 'And I am not done discussing this. The second I have made myself a cup of tea and have sat down in my comfy chair and have drank said cup of tea, we are continuing this conversation.'

'Understood,' Sherlock nodded. 'But perhaps it would be best to split up for now, considering what has just happened.'

'Yes. You go interrogate your doppelgänger, I'll go home and make my crisis tea,' John grit out a lot harsher than he'd intended. His nerves were on edge, and a load of emotional turmoil had just been dumped on him. He was actually surprised he hadn't thrown up yet.

'Not wise.' Sherlock shook his head. 'You're the people person here. I would only traumatise him further.'

'Oh for god's sake,' John groaned. 'It's not like you'd kill the guy.' One look at Sherlock's face told John he actually believed he would. 'Ok, fine, whatever. _I'll_ interrogate the victim, _you_ go home and make tea. Or stay here and solve some more cold cases. I don't fucking care.'

He released Sherlock's arm and strode to the edge of the kerb, waving his arms madly to try to hail a cab.

'Why are the cabbies such fucking pricks today?' he asked to nobody in particular. 'What do I have to do? Flash them?'

Sherlock walked back to Lestrade's office, feeling numb and distraught beyond belief. He was so numb he wasn't even aware of the tears that were still spilling from his eyes.

Sally Donovan, trailed by her obedient dog Anderson, was simply roaming the halls of the Yard. Anderson was on break and so he was doing what he did best: being an annoying prick. Honestly, Sally wondered why she still kept him around. Entertainment, she supposed.

Then she ran into Sherlock, surprised to not only see him upright but also inside the building. Wasn't he supposed to still be recuperating? Then she noticed the tears streaming down his face and her inner big sister took over.

'Sherlock?' she asked gingerly, waving Anderson off. He didn't listen. Just disappeared into a cubicle to stay and listen. 'Sherlock, are you alright? What's wrong?'

Sherlock snapped his head up to lock eyes with Sally. 'Since when have you cared about me?' he snapped.

'Since you were beaten to a bloody pulp and then were in a coma for four months,' Sally answered. She gently directed him to a bench and sat down next to him. 'I'm sorry for all the things I've said, about you being a freak. You aren't a freak. I suppose I was just jealous of your talent. I was afraid Lestrade would replace me with you. Or, better yet, you'd replace Anderson.'

'Hey!' the man in question protested from his hiding place.

'Shut it!' Sally shot back.

Sherlock's eyes widened. 'Did you see any of the photos?' His breathing became ragged and unsteady. 'Is that why you're being so nice to me?'

'No,' Sally said softly. 'Not just because of the photos.' She looked up at him and sighed. 'Look, I was a bitch, Anderson a dick. And I'm at least sorry for my words and actions. Dickhead over there, on the other hand, is still being a fucking child about all this.'

'Sally, you can suck my dick!' Anderson whispered loudly.

'I have, on many occasions, and it ain't nuthin to brag about,' she whispered loudly back. She returned her attention to Sherlock. 'Sorry about that. But no, it's not just the photos. It's everything. Your life was hell before you met me. I always thought you were a rich, privileged, spoilt brat, and I felt it was my duty to put you in your place. I see now that you didn't need me constantly reminding you of the name... carved in your back. And I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll never call you that again. I promise.'

'Why bother? I think we can both agree the name is very fitting for me,' he growled. 'I was branded with it. It's who I am.' Sherlock stood to his feet with a wince.

'Sherlock, I–'

'I always knew you were a freak,' Anderson sneered, peering out from his hiding place. 'Even your own father knew that, and he labeled you with it for the rest of your life. Freak.'

'Sherlock, no! Don't listen to him!' Sally tried to reason with him, but it was too late.

Something broke within Sherlock.

'I know!' he roared, red in the face, more tears running down his cheeks. 'I know! I'm a freak! A screw up! Wrong! I know all that!'

He began walking as fast as he could from Sally and Anderson, practically knocking over a very confused Lestrade in the process.

'What the hell?' Lestrade asked, stumbling back as Sherlock barged past. 'Donovan? What–' His unspoken question was answered when he saw a very smug Anderson standing in the middle of an empty cubicle.

'Donovan, you read his case file, didn't you?' Sally nodded silently. 'And you shared it with him?' Sally nodded again.

'Pass him over. We're going to make sure he's nice and comfortable until John gets back,' Greg grinned maliciously. Sally quickly grabbed Anderson's wrists and hauled him to Greg's office.

'Hey there, Andy,' Greg smiled again, plopping the frightened man in his desk chair. 'Make yourself comfortable. You're gonna be here for a while.' He handcuffs the man to his locked desk drawer, sitting in one of the chairs on the opposite side of his desk, propping his feet up on the tabletop.

'Donovan? Be a dear and keep watch, will you? And let me know when John returns.'

'Yes, sir,' Sally agreed, scowling at Anderson and throwing him two birds before walking out of the room and closing the door behind her, telling any curious officers that the D.I. was in a private meeting and could not be disturbed.

**...::-::...**

Sherlock was running away. That's all he knew. He didn't know where he was running to. His body and mind were on auto pilot. It was only when he was walking down a dark and narrow back alley that he realised where he was going.

He was going to get a fix.

* * *

I told you Anderson was a dick. But at the very least our boys are on the road to recovering their relationship. And while Sherlock will be getting high next chapter (and questionable activities will be taking place), their relationship will start to repair. So a lot of the angst of the "breakup" is over. But now there'll be the angst of getting back together. And the high. So you have that to look forward to.

See you Friday! And happy Red Pants Monday!

TSA + IB


	29. Separate Ways, Worlds Apart

Happy Friday!

I have officially completed my first week back to university! *throws confetti* And now I'm utterly exhausted and need a nap, but I decided to update this for you lovely people first. And I have Monday off (Labor Day in the US, so we don't have school or mail, which is extremely sad because I love mail). So yay! I get to sleep in!

Invisible Blade: Sherlock, Dodgy Dave

Me: John, random hospital staff, Mr Oswald, Greg, Anderson, Sally

_Warnings for this chapter: angst, drug use, trauma patient having an episode, sex whilst high, dubious consent, minor violence, seeing things and hearing voices._

* * *

Chapter 29 – Separate Ways, Worlds Apart

John finally managed to flag down a cab, speeding off to the hospital at last. Thankfully the cabbie wasn't in a talkative mood. Maybe the angry looking man wearing a cardigan in his back seat kept him tight lipped. Or maybe he just wasn't a talker. Whatever the reason, John was grateful for the silence. It gave him time to think.

Sherlock had told him that everything he'd said since he'd woken up had all been a lie. So, their relationship hasn't just been an experiment? Sherlock still loved him? Sherlock still wanted to be with him? Did he still want to marry him?

John ran his fingers over his lips, still tingling from their kiss barely five minutes ago. John had forgotten how plush and full Sherlock's lips were. They had moulded perfectly to his for just a brief moment in time before they had pulled away. And they had tasted divine. John dug his fingers into his thigh to stop a moan from escaping, and to remind his prick to behave itself. No more action, ever. Not unless Sherlock's words were true and, even then, not until they had discussed it fully.

The cab pulled up outside the hospital, John passing the cabbie some notes before climbing out and heading inside. He didn't even have to show a badge when he said the Yard had sent him over. Either people were extremely stupid of his blog had a far wider readership than he realised. The nurse at the desk gave him Mr Oswald's room number, paging the surgeon up as well to meet him there to discuss injuries and such before John could talk to him. John nodded and thanked the girl, striding to the elevator and taking it up to Mr Oswald's room, meeting the doctor outside his room.

'Doctor Watson?' the silver-haired man asked.

'Yes, sir,' John answered out of habit. He held out a hand. 'Doctor Doyle, I presume?'

'You presume correctly,' the man said, taking John's hand and giving it a firm shake. 'Greg sent you over, correct?'

'Yes sir,' John answered, nodding his head and falling back in parade rest when the doctor released his hand. 'He asked me to interview Mr Oswald about his attack. If that's alright with you of course.'

'Well, he's stable now, so I don't see what harm it could do,' Doyle said. 'Here.' He gave John the man's chart, explaining what John was seeing as he read it.

'He suffers from multiple contusions to the face and upper torso, a swollen eye, split lip, and he has marks around his neck suggesting that he was strangled for quite some time. Also, he was kicked and stomped on repeatedly. His shoulder was dislocated, three fingers broken, four ribs cracked, two broken, and many organs were bleeding internally. Honestly, this kid is lucky to be alive.'

'Thanks Doctor Doyle,' John said, scanning over the man's readouts before passing them back over. 'Is it alright if I go talk to him now? Is he awake?'

'He's awake yes, but please be careful. The poor bloke was literally dumped on our doorstep this morning. He might be a little confused and disoriented. Go easy, ok?'

'Yes sir,' John said, almost saluting the man. 'One question though.' The doctor turned to smile at him.

'You want to know why you're suddenly a soldier again, yes?' he asked knowingly. 'It happens a lot. I was a doctor in the war too, an officer. Apparently I just seem to radiate high rank and importance, even now. It's happened before and it will happen again. So, at ease.'

John visibly relaxed, laughing slightly. 'Well, alright then. Thank you sir. I'll do my best not to worry your patient.' Then he actually did salute the man, which he returned.

'Have a good day, soldier.'

'You too, sir.' The doctor nodded and walked off to another room, talking animatedly with a nurse before disappearing. John turned to Mr Oswald's door, taking a calming breath before stepping inside.

**…::-::…**

As Sherlock found himself hammering on the door of his old dealer he questioned what he was doing. He knew that he should be turning around, marching back up the cold, dark alleyway and never looking back. He wanted to too. John would be disappointed in him and furious if he were to get back into the drugs. His brother would drag him through rehab and force him to detox again. Lestrade wouldn't allow him to look into the cold cases. His body wasn't as young as it was before so the likelihood of him handling his drugs wasn't high.

But then for every argument against drugs he found one that was pushing him further into his decision.

_John's already disappointed in me and furious for my actions over the past two months._

_In my dream world my brother didn't force me to detox and my brother is dealing with his own problems. It is unlikely that he will notice mine whilst he is so preoccupied._

_I don't need cases. The drugs will slow my mind down enough. I wasn't on cases when I was doing drugs before and that was fine._

_My body will cope. After all it's been through; getting beaten, being in a coma, muscle wastage._

_I need a fix. One fix. I'll be fine._

**…::-::…**

John entered Mr Oswald's room opening and closing the door softly. The poor man looked like he'd gone ten rounds with a chopper blade and had won. He was hooked up to four IVs, one was probably morphine, one a saline solution, and the other two were anybody's guess. His heart monitor beeped slow but steady. So he was alive. That was good. But how long could he stay awake for John's question?

'Hello? Mr Oswald?' John said softly. The heart monitor jumped slightly when the man registered his voice, probably surprised as he hadn't heard him come in.

'Sorry to surprise you,' John said, coming into the man's view. 'My name is Doctor Watson. I'm a consultant with Scotland Yard. I'm here to ask you some questions about your attack.'

'I... I'm afraid I... I can't give you much,' the man choked out. His throat was probably dry and his lips looked chapped. John looked around for the ice chips, grabbing them and sitting down beside Mr Oswald.

'Do you mind?' he asked, holding up a piece of ice for the man to see.

'No,' he croaked out. John delicately ran the ice along the man's cracked lips, moistening them. He sighed in relief, sucking the ice into his mouth and allowing the melting water to run down his throat.

'Often with attacks like this, the attackers leave little evidence behind,' John said, pulling out another piece of ice and tracing Mr Oswald's lips with it. 'But sometimes they mess up. You scratched one of them, they showed you their faces because they thought you would forget or die, anything along those lines. Anything you remember could help us find the men who did this to you.'

'Don't remember much,' Mr Oswald managed to say, his voice sounding better already. 'They picked me up outside the theatre. I'd gone to see that new Iron Man movie, ya know?'

'Yeah. I've been meaning to see it myself,' John grinned. 'Is it any good?'

'It's excellent,' Mr Oswald grinned brightly. 'Robert is amazing.'

'Yeah, I like him too,' John smiled back. 'I'll be sure to see it soon. But the men, they abducted you when you left the theatre?'

'Yeah. I was walking home. It's only a few streets away, so I figured it was safe, ya know?' He looked up at John and swallowed. 'But I passed by this one particularly dark alley and this pair of huge arms grabbed me and threw me in the back of a van. They kept calling me some stupid name. And it wasn't even mine!'

'What did they call you?' John asked, looking up from his notepad.

'Sherlock, I think?' Mr Oswald shrugged. 'Doesn't even sound like a real name. But I was scared so maybe I misheard.'

'Maybe, yes,' John swallowed. 'But who knows? Maybe it was some sort of code?'

'Yeah, maybe. But they kept saying it like they thought it was my name. I don't know. Maybe they were all high.' John didn't even respond to that. 'And... And when they realised I wasn't this Sherlock person, thing, whatever, that was when they started beating me.'

_They had been looking for Sherlock?_ John looked up at that. Mr Oswald took that as his cue to continue.

'They kept saying, "Pass on a message. He'll find you. You'll know 'em when ya see 'em." Who were they talking about? Who is this Sherlock bloke they mistake me for?' He looked up at John, fear and trust in his eyes.

'I think I may know,' he said solemnly. He pulled out his phone, flipping to an old photo of Sherlock he didn't have the heart to delete. He showed Mr Oswald the photo, his heart beating faster when he saw.

'So they... They wanted him, but got me instead?' he asked in a wall voice.

'Perhaps,' John said, putting his phone away. 'Or maybe they wanted you because you look so much like him and they wanted to scare him. They did the same thing a few months back with men who looked like me. If it is the same group of men, that is.'

'So is he, like, your boyfriend?'

'Yeah. Well, he was. Now I'm not so sure.'

'What happened?'

'Look, don't take it personally, but I'd really rather not discuss my private life with a trauma patient,' John said.

'Understandable,' the man nodded. 'But, if it helps, I'm studying to be a therapist at London University.'

'Thanks, but no,' John smiled softly. 'But good luck in your studies.'

'Thanks.'

'So, what else can you remember about your attack? What message did they want you to give Sherlock?'

'Well, after they stopped hitting me, they started kicking and stomping on me,' the man shuddered. 'And then... then some sick bastard ripped open my shirt and started carving into my back. The docs here haven't even told me what it says. Have you seen it?'

'Yes, and as of yet we have no idea what the significance of those wounds are,' John sighed.

'But what's it say?' the man demanded.

'"I.O.U.,"' John sighed. Mr Oswald's eyes glazed over, his heart monitor shooting through the roof. 'Mr Oswald? Mr Oswald! Can you hear me?'

'I owe you!' he cried. 'That was the message!' His voice took on an almost sickly quality as he recollected the message to John with astounding clarity and memory. '"I owe you a fall, Sherlock. Protect your heart and your head. Because I will make you fall. Protect your heart. Because I'm coming after him. Protect your head. Because then I'm coming after you. From, your biggest fan."'

The doctor and a nurse rushed in just as Mr Oswald's body lurched up, his mouth hung open in a silent scream. John was pushed aside as the staff worked to calm their patient down, regulate his breathing and heart rate. In the end, they injected him with a sedative, Mr Oswald's body relaxing but he still had a wild look in his eyes as he fell under.

'What the hell was that?' Doctor Doyle demanded.

'I... I don't know. A memory attached to a word, I believe. He went from calm to frantic in under a second. And all I said was "I.O.U."'

'Ok, well, I suggest you don't say it around him again,' Doyle advised. 'And I think that's all you'll be getting for today. I suggest you come back when he's more stable.'

'Of course,' John nodded, closing his notebook. 'Sorry about all that. But, can you give him this when he wakes?' He handed the doctor his card. 'If he remembers anything else, no matter how mundane or unimportant it may seem, can you give me a call? Any information to the case could be important.'

'Sure,' the doctor said, taking the card and setting it on Mr Oswald's bedside table. 'I'll see you out.'

'That's fine, but thank you,' John declined. 'Tend to your patient. He's going to need you when he wakes up.' John waved and exited the room, managing to make it to the lift rather calmly.

He didn't let the force of what Mr Oswald had screamed at him hit him until he made it into a cab and was headed back to the Yard. He covered his face with his hands and breathed deeply. So it was Moriarty. He was going after them both now. He was going to make Sherlock fall. But how? And why?

**…::-::…**

The door Sherlock had been knocking on for the past ten minutes finally opened. There in the doorway stood David Daniels, his old dealer, otherwise known as Dodgy Dave.

David wasn't the typical drug dealer. He was short and scrawny with rat like features. In fact that's just what David Daniels was; a rat

Sherlock shivered in repulsion, regretting his decision to come to the door of a dealer that was well known for screwing over his customers more often than not with bad batches.

If you resorted to getting your drugs from Dodgy Dave then you knew you'd hit rock bottom. Whereas the deals were dodgy they were cheap too, and not even the police ventured down the hidden alleyway.

'Sherlock?' Dodgy Dave gave him a lopsided smile and fixed his beady eyes on the detective. 'What a surprise. Thought you cleaned up? Didn't think you'd be back here.'

'Hello, David,' Sherlock greeted the man with a blank expression. 'May I come in?'

'What, and turn me in?' Dodgy Dave snorted. 'I've heard the stories. You're working for the other side now, with that Lestrade bloke.'

'I can assure you that if I wanted to turn you in I would have done so a long time ago.'

'Spose so.' Dodgy Dave moved aside a little reluctantly. 'To what do I owe the honour then?'

'This isn't a casual visit, David.' Sherlock stepped inside the door and into a small room that smelt like gone off food and sweat. 'I need a batch of your best stuff.'

'Course it ain't a casual visit. No one that comes to see me comes away empty handed.'

_Yes. I can remember that fact clearly._

**…::-::…**

John exited the cab and stepped into the Yard. Was it his imagination, or was everyone staring at him as he walked to Greg's office. Sally was standing outside it, throwing John a sympathetic and guilty look. When he opened the door he understood why.

Anderson was handcuffed to Greg's desk, a look of pure horror on his face when he laid eyes on John.

'What is going on?' John asked, striding over to Lestrade.

'Sally, you want to explain?' the D.I. scowled. Sally entered the room and closed the door, locking it for good measure.

'I... I looked through Sherlock's case file,' she said softly, avoiding John's gaze. 'I saw the photos of his back, and... and I shared them with Anderson. I'm so sorry, John.'

'So, why is Anderson tied up? Where's Sherlock?' John asked, turning to Greg.

'Sally?' Greg glowered.

'I talked to Sherlock, when he came back inside,' Sally said. 'He was crying, I wanted to try to be nice. Anderson was a dick as usual. But, while I was trying to comfort Sherlock and apologise, Anderson opened his fat mouth and–'

'I told him he was a freak, he would always be a freak, and if his own father could see it from such a young age then he was destined to be a freak for the rest of his life,' Anderson finally spoke, nailing his coffin shut. He knew John was going to attack him, so he might as well tell it like it was.

'You what?!' John screamed. 'How could you say that? Why would you say that? Anderson, you have made some dick moves in the past, but this takes the cake. Stand him up.'

Greg moved over and uncuffed Anderson from his desk drawer. He stood him up, locking his arms behind his back. Anderson struggled even though he knew it was futile. He looked back to John, fear in his eyes, just as his fist connected with his jaw. John then punched him in the gut, Anderson doubling over but Greg still held him up. John grabbed Anderson by the throat, forcing him to look at him.

'I promised Sherlock earlier that I would punch you in the face for him,' John growled. 'And I'm keeping that promise.' He squeezed Anderson's throat tightly and brought his fist back. It connected with Anderson's nose with a satisfying crack, blood pouring from it profusely. Greg released him then, allowing him to crumple to the floor. John spat on the crumpled form and turned to Sally, his knuckles still itching for a fight. He settled for slapping her across the face with an open palm. She stumbled back, holding her hand to her cheek, tears forming in her eyes.

'Next time, think about what you share with Anderson,' he growled. 'Or you'll get a lot worse than a red cheek.' He turned to Greg, fuming. 'I don't want to see any assault charges.'

'Assault? I didn't see assault. I saw self defence,' Greg shrugged. 'Let's go look for Sherlock, shall we?' He moved to his door and held it open, John storming out in a huff. 'And guys? Clean yourselves up. Oh, and grow some balls or something. Dicks.' He closed his office door, Sally and Anderson still inside dumbfounded and in pain.

Greg followed John out to the staff parking lot, getting in his squad car and pulling out to drive the London streets, informing his officers on patrol to keep a lookout for the missing detective.

'I'm so sorry, John,' he apologised as they drove around. 'We'll find him. I promise.'

'Well, at least you let me punch Anderson,' John smirked.

'I've been wanting to do it for a while now. I figured you deserved it more than me though.'

'Yes. Yes I did. Thanks for that.'

'No problem. Let's find that crazy git of yours then, shall we?'

'Yes. And as soon as we're home, I don't know. I just know he's going to need me. And I have a really bad feeling that he's up to no good.'

**…::-::…**

Drugs in his pocket, Sherlock strode out into the alleyway once more. Dodgy Dave threw a smug goodbye after him. Sherlock simply kept on walking. He walked until his legs were exhausted. He reached inside his pocket and fished his supplies out, setting everything up.

The needle was his own (he wasn't a complete idiot). He'd had one on him at all times, ever since his cravings had begun. He had known all along that there was a high chance that he'd give in to his cravings and he hadn't wanted to risk using a dirty needle.

In shaking hands he held the needle to his pale arm, and thought nothing of it as it pricked his skin and the drug within it slipped down into his veins.

**…::-::…**

'Greg, we've been driving for hours and there's been no sign of him!' John complained, fidgeting in his seat in worry. 'He isn't answering his phone, none of the patrol officers have seen him. Greg, I'm scared. What if something happened to him?'

'John calm down,' Greg said, pulling onto a new street. 'He's probably fine. His mobile is probably dead, and maybe he doesn't want to be found. Or, maybe he's home already.'

'Ok. Ok, yeah,' John nodded frantically, still trying to calm down. 'Maybe he's home already. Can you take me home, Greg?'

'We're already here.' He pulled up outside 221 Baker Street, parking the car but not shutting it off. 'Look, if he's there, at least let me know he's alive. But if he's not, call me if he isn't back by morning, alright? Then I'll get a search party started, put out an APB, and you can fill out a missing person's report. But I'm sure he's fine. Don't get yourself worried over nothing.'

'Yeah. Yeah. Thanks Greg. I'll call you for sure. Thanks.' John climbed out of the car and Greg sped off. John entered the flat, taking the stairs two at a time.

'Sherlock?' he called out. Sherlock wasn't there. In fact, the flat looked exactly the same as when they first left. Shit.

'God dammit Sherlock! Where are you?' John took a deep breath. Greg had said not to get worried, so he was going to do his damnedest to stay calm. He first filled the kettle and set it on its stand, turning it on before trudging up to his room and putting on pyjama trousers and a fresh shirt. He didn't bother with the razor. He was already numb enough as it was. He went back downstairs and turned on the TV to some random channel, just needing it for background noise. He poured his tea and sat on the sofa, pulling a blanket over his legs and holding his mug in his hands.

He stayed like that until it got dark, and then a little longer, wanting to be awake for when Sherlock returned. His eyes began closing around ten, he sank into the sofa by 10:30, and he was fast asleep by 11.

But where the hell was Sherlock? His mind demanded answers, even in his dreams.

**…::-::…**

The drug pulsed in Sherlock's veins. His mind was blank and, for the first time in a very long time, he felt at peace.

He had been standing in the alleyway for hours. Night fell and with it came a heavy downpour of rain. It drenched him through to his skin. It was freezing but he didn't care.

He wasn't quite sure how or when he got home but at last he was stumbling through the flat door, looking akin to a drowned cat, his curls plastered to his head with rain water, his clothes dripping all over the floor, leaving a mess in his wake.

A loud giggle broke free from his lips as he spotted a sleeping John on the sofa. For some reason he found the image of his flatmate bundled beneath a blanket hilarious.

He dropped to his knees, abandoning his cane, and crawled over to the sleeping John.

He reached out a tentative hand and began petting John's head. 'My preciousss,' he hissed. 'Wake up Baginsss.'

Something wet was on his head. No. Something wet was petting his head. What the hell? John cracked an eye open and nearly jumped out of his skin. Sherlock was kneeling over him, drenched to the bone, and looking all the world like a wet cat. But that wasn't what disturbed John the most. No.

Sherlock's pupils were blown wide. He'd gone back to the drugs. And now he was hissing at him like Smeagol did to the Ring.

'I am not a Hobbit!' John pouted. 'And you're high, Sherlock. Why? Why would you go back to the drugs?'

'Little Hobbitess is lying. What do we do with liars preciousss? We kill! We kill!' Sherlock continued to pet the funny little creature's head, a grin twisting at his features.

'What? No!' John yelled. 'You don't kill! No!' He slapped Sherlock across the face to try to get him to come to his senses. He just hoped Smeagol-Sherlock wouldn't attack him for it.

Sherlock frowned. 'Little Hobbitess is being very mean.' He pulled himself up to his feet and dive bombed onto the little Hobbit-John.

'Gah! Sherlock! What are you doing?' John cried, not knowing what to expect. He's never seen Sherlock high, had only heard stories. But now that he was witnessing it for himself, he honestly didn't know what to do.

Sherlock peered at the strange creature closer and straddled it. 'Little Hobbitess going to play nice,' he growled.

'Um... Ok,' John said softly, swallowing when Sherlock's weight was pressed against him. What the hell was he doing?

'Little Hobbitess must listen. Must do as preciousss saysss.' Sherlock rocked against the little Hobbit-John.

'Gah!' John squeaked, his hands automatically scrambling to grasp Sherlock's hips.

'Little Hobbitess so keen.' Sherlock reached for his zipper and wriggled out of his jeans and boxers, letting them hang on his hips. John didn't speak, just stared at Sherlock's prick hungrily. God damn, he wanted it in his mouth so bad he was actually drooling. Sherlock chuckled darkly and crawled up the little Hobbit-John, wrapping his thighs around the creature's neck. John was panting now, his heart pounding in his chest.

_Yes. Sherlock please. Let me suck you off. Please. God yes,_ he begged silently. His dark eyes boring into Sherlock's._  
_  
'Little Hobbitess going to choke.' He pushed his member into Hobbit-John's mouth and down his throat. 'Kill! Kill!'

John gratefully accepted Sherlock's hard member, sucking on it greedily. His hands gripped Sherlock's hips tightly, keeping him from thrusting too hard and choking him. He swallowed around Sherlock's cock, feeling it twitch and pulse. God, he'd forgotten how wonderful it was to give Sherlock head. He was always so responsive.

Sherlock moaned and wiggled in Hobbit-John's mouth. 'Suck me harder, Hobbitess.'

John hollowed his cheeks and sucked as hard as he could, his fingers digging into Sherlock's hips so tightly he was sure bruises would be left behind. Sherlock's cock twitched in his throat. John could tell he was close.

_Come on. Come on. Cum for me my delightful idiot. Cum down my throat. Let me taste you. Come on. Please._

With one final thrust Sherlock was coming fast and hard down Hobbit-John's throat. After he was done he pulled out and rolled off of the Hobbit and onto the hard floor with a thud.

Wow the floor was really pretty.

He shucked his trousers and boxers fully off and scrambled out of his hoodie and t-shirt too.

His heart was pounding impossibly fast. Too fast. Fuck.

John swallowed all Sherlock gave him, moaning at the taste. He hadn't had Sherlock in so long, but god damn did he still taste as delicious as ever. He flinched when Sherlock rolled onto the floor. That sounded painful.

'Hey? You ok, Sherlock? That didn't sound too good.'

Sherlock whimpered, closing his eyes, willing his heart to slow down. 'Help me up, halfling,' he begged. 'Help me.'

John stood up, wiping his mouth before slowly helping Sherlock to his feet.

'What's wrong, love?' John asked, easily slipping back into the term of endearment. He rested his fingers against Sherlock's wrist, taking his pulse, gasping when he felt how fast it was beating.

'Oh my god. Shower. Now.' he instructed, gently shoving Sherlock in the right direction.

Sherlock grunted and almost tripped. He glared at the Hobbit. 'Fear me, halfling,' he mumbled grumpily.

'Oh, I'm scared alright,' John sighed, pushing Sherlock to the bathroom. 'But I'm not scared of you, I'm scared for you. You are not overdosing on me.'

Sherlock growled and bared his teeth. 'Do you dare question the power of Smaug?'

John groaned and slapped a hand over his face. Great. Now he was a fucking dragon? And how did he even know what _The Lord of the Rings_ were? How had that not been deleted?

'Don't test me, Smaug,' John growled. 'Or I'll have the bowman shoot you in your weak spot.' They finally made it to the bathroom. John turned on the shower, making sure it was cold. 'Alright Smaug, in ya go.'

Sherlock snarled and spat at the Hobbit. 'Do you think that a puny little halfling like yourself can order Smaug around?'

John wiped the glob of spit off of himself, frowning deeply. 'When this puny little halfling is extremely pissed off and worried about Smaug, yes, he does.' John all but shoved Sherlock under the spray of cold water, the taller man hissing and spitting at him.

'Fuck!' Sherlock screamed. 'It's fucking freezing in here. Get me out of here you bastard!'

'I'm trying to stop you from overdosing you ungrateful son of a bitch!' John screamed back. 'Now stay still until your body calms down or I swear to god I'll sedate you!'

Sherlock was reduced to tears and whimpers as the freezing cold water battered against his skin harshly. 'Please, just let me out of here!' he begged. 'Halfling, please!'

'No!' John protested, shoving Sherlock back under the spray. 'I am not a halfling, you are not Smaug. You are Sherlock and I am John and you are high as a fucking kite! And you will stand under this freezing cold water until I say so!'

Sherlock was sobbing now. 'Please,' he hiccupped. 'I'll be good. Please.' His legs shook beneath him and he grabbed John's shoulder to support him.

'No,' John repeated. 'But, at the very least, I'll make the water warmer.' John turned the temperature of the water up slightly. Sherlock's pulse had slowed at least, so now it was time to regulate his body temperature to prevent him from getting pneumonia. Hopefully all he'd get was a cold.

Sherlock hummed as his body began to warm. 'It would be far better if the halfling was in here with me.'

'Would it now?' John asked softly. He wiped the tears off Sherlock's cheeks, one hand staying to cup his face. 'Would the great and powerful Smaug like the little Hobbit to join him?'

'Smaug would indeed benefit from the company of the little Hobbit,' Sherlock grinned giddily at the Hobbit-John.

'Well, alright,' John agreed. 'Just let me get undressed.' John toed off his shoes and socks, then tossed his cardigan over his shoulder. It was then that he remembered the fresh cuts on his arm. Would Sherlock say anything in his current state? Maybe he could play it off as something an Orc did? John decided to risk it, taking off the rest of his clothes but leaving his bandage on. He could change it later.

'Is that better, Smaug?' John asked, his hands resting awkwardly at his side.

Sherlock nodded but frowned. 'The halfling is hurt,' he whispered, reaching out to brush his fingertips against the injuries on Hobbit-John.

John swallowed. 'It's just a battle injury. It's nothing.' Well, it was a battle injury of sorts. Only the battle was between his body and his mind.

'You're lying.' Sherlock bared his teeth. 'Don't lie to Smaug. I shall hunt down and kill the person who did this to you. Now, tell the truth.'

'I... I did it,' John said in a small voice, hanging his head so he wouldn't have to look Sherlock in the eye. 'I did it because I was sad and hurt and I did something stupid. And I didn't want to feel like that, so I injured myself.'

'Why, halfling?' Sherlock whispered. 'You could have chosen a different method of coping.'

'Like what? Alcohol or drugs?' John shook his head. 'This one is far more forgiving to my body. At least this method isn't damaging my internal organs or my nervous system. All I get are scars on my arms and thighs.'

Sherlock tugged the Hobbit-John into a hug. 'Don't do it anymore halfling. I love you too much to risk losing you to cutting.'

John's heart stopped.

'You love me?' he asked in a small whisper. His arms found themselves wrapping around Sherlock in a tender hug.

Sherlock nuzzled the halfling. 'I never stopped loving you. Everything I do or say is because I love you.'

'I'm not having this conversation until you're sober,' John said, shaking his head. 'But, since you still love me, would you kiss me? Please?'

Sherlock smiled. 'That, little Hobbit, is something I can definitely do.' He moved his head and gently placed his plump lips on John's. John hummed and kissed Sherlock back, his hands moving to cup Sherlock's face tenderly.

Sherlock pulled back and yawned sleepily, staring intently at the bathroom tiles. 'Mmm tired,' he complained.

'Does Smaug need to return to his bed of gold and go to sleep?' John asked, drunk off of their first proper kiss in months.

'Indeed. Smaug does.' Sherlock kissed John on the lips briefly. 'Want my Hobbit in my bed too.'

'Ok,' John grinned. He pulled Sherlock back to him, kissing him thoroughly before pulling away. 'Sorry. But, in my defence, it's been two months. We have a lot of catching up to do.'

He turned off the water and stepped out, drying himself off before helping Sherlock out and towelling him down as well. John looked down at his bandage. His cuts hadn't been bothering him all that much, so he supposed maybe he could go without the bandage. He unrolled it, his skin wet underneath but not too bad. He looked at the six new cuts, frowning when he remembered what each one was for. He shook his head and pulled his arm away from Sherlock's prying eyes.

'Come along, Smaug,' he smiled gently. 'Let's go to bed.'

'Not to sleep I hope,' Sherlock suggested, kissing John over and over down his throat. 'Make love to me.' He stroked the Hobbit-John's scars gently. 'I have a few apologies to make.'

'I, uh,' John stammered, groaning as Sherlock kissed his throat. _I can't_, he thought to himself. _I literally can't._

'No, Sherlock,' he said instead. 'No love making until you're sober. Let's get some sleep, ok?'

'Mmm alright.' Sherlock placed one more kiss on John's neck and sighed softly. 'At least stay with me through the night.'

'I can do that, yeah,' John smiled softly. He took Sherlock's hand and led him to his bedroom, tucking him in before moving to the other side and crawling in himself.

'I killed myself, you know?' Sherlock mumbled, crawling closer to the halfling.

'I'm sorry, what?' John asked, staring at Sherlock. 'You look pretty alive to me.'

'No,' Sherlock sighed heavily. 'In my dream. I killed myself in there.'

'You... You did?' John swallowed thickly. 'What... Why?'

'I hurt you, made you break, made you bleed. Seemed only logical to end it.' Sherlock wrapped his arms around the Hobbit-John.

'No. Never kill yourself because of me,' John said, hugging Sherlock close. 'Please. Don't ever kill yourself over me.'

'I held the gun to my lips. Your gun. Our children were screaming outside our door. They begged me to stop. I didn't. I couldn't. I hurt you. I deserved to die.' Sherlock shivered and clutched to the halfling like a baby.

'We had kids?' John asked, his mind wandering to the world where he and Sherlock were parents. 'No, not important right now. No one deserves to die that way. Especially not you.'

'I did,' Sherlock sniffled. 'I hurt you. You and the children deserved better. I was an alcoholic. My life was miserable.'

'I would have gotten better,' John protested. 'And we would have gotten you help. You should never kill yourself over another person. Especially me. I'm not worth the trouble.'

'You are worth it. You are worth so much. That's why I lied to you. I thought if we weren't as close I wouldn't hurt you. Because if I did then I really think I would have done it for real. Kill myself that is.' A tear dripped from Sherlock's eye. 'And even now I've hurt you. Your scars are proof of that.'

'Don't you dare kill yourself over me,' John scowled. 'I won't stand for it. Because if you do, I might just follow you. And you won't be able to stop me.'

'But at least I wouldn't have to watch your self destruction.' Sherlock began to tremble violently. 'I've thought about it over these two months. Thought about leaving this world. Every time you went to cut.'

'No,' John choked out, trying not to start sobbing. 'Don't – don't you dare even think that. No.' He clutched Sherlock tight and clenched his eyes shut.

'Why? I can't stand watching you hurt yourself because of me.' Sherlock joined the Hobbit-John in his sobbing.

'I'll stop then,' John choked out. 'I promise. I'll stop. I won't hurt myself ever again. Not on purpose anyway. Please, don't kill yourself because of me. Please. I... I need you. Please.'

'I–' Sherlock gulped. 'God help me. I don't know what to do anymore.'

'What you do is you live,' John stated, pulling Sherlock close. 'Find something worth living for.'

'Like what?' Sherlock choked. 'I don't have you anymore. I don't have anything.'

'Sherlock, I haven't left. I'm still here. You've still got me. I... I never stopped loving you. I've always loved you and I always will.'

'It isn't healthy for us to be together like that.' Sherlock wrapped his legs around Hobbit-John. 'I love you but I need you to respect that I can't be with you like that.'

'Can't be with me like what?' John trembled, his voice breaking. 'Don't you want me?'

'I want you so much,' Sherlock gulped. 'But look at me. I haven't slept more than an hour a night over these two months. I've resorted to drugs. I'm depressed. I'm a mess.'

'I cut myself, haven't been sleeping, would cry for days, and am depressed as well,' John said softly, running his fingers through Sherlock's shorter curls. 'I'm a mess too. What's to say we couldn't help each other get better? Because I was better with you.'

'That's my fault! I did that to you!' Sherlock cried out. 'I put you through that pain!'

'Because you weren't there for me!' John countered. 'No. I am not having this conversation right now.' John climbed out of bed and to the medical cabinet in the kitchen. He grabbed the sleeping pills and poured some water into a mug. He returned to Sherlock and shoved the pills into his palm.

'Take these. We'll continue this when you're sober.'

'I don't want to sleep!' Sherlock chucked the pills to the floor. 'I want to bloody talk!'

'I will talk when you are sober!' John countered, picking the pills up from the floor. 'Now take the bloody pills!'

'No.' Sherlock shook his head. 'I want to talk now.'

'No, Sherlock,' John said, shaking his head. 'You aren't in your right mind. I don't want to talk about this while you're high. Please, just take the pills. I'll be here when you wake up. I promise.'

'I don't want to sleep,' Sherlock grumbled. 'I don't trust you. You might do something stupid.'

'Ok, how about this? You take one pill and I'll take another?' John offered. 'That way we'll both get some sleep and I won't do anything stupid.'

'No.' Sherlock turned his back to Hobbit-John. 'I don't want to sleep.'

'Ok. Fine. Since you won't sleep, I might as well help you stay awake.' John stalked off to the kitchen, turning on the coffee maker and dumping the water out of the mug. He glanced back to Sherlock's bedroom, making sure Sherlock wasn't watching.

'Forgive me,' he whispered to himself as he crushed the sleeping pills into a fine powder, dumping them in the mug and pouring the hot coffee over them. He stirred the coffee, adding a touch of creamer to hide the taste of the pills. He then returned to Sherlock, offering him the mug.

'Here. If you won't go to sleep, at least drink that so you can sober up a bit.'

Sherlock stared at the cup of coffee in horror. 'God no.' Sherlock shook his head, lips trembling, eyes tearing up. 'Not coffee.'

'What's wrong with coffee?' John asked, raising an eyebrow. 'It's always been your drink of choice to keep yourself awake.'

'Thought you didn't want to talk whilst I'm high,' Sherlock snapped.

'Ugh. Fine.' John returned to the kitchen and turned the kettle on, dumping the coffee down the drain and washing the mug out. Well, that was a waste of pills. John pulled the medicine cabinet open and took two more pills out of the bottle, crushing them and putting them in the clean mug.

John sighed and leaned against the counter while the water boiled. How could two people he so good for each other yet be so destructive to one another? The kettle turned off before he could consider an answer. He poured the water in the mug, allowing the pills to dissolve in the water before steeping a bag of Earl Grey in the hot water. He added a spoonful of milk and some honey to it, just the way Sherlock liked it.

He took the bags out and threw them in the bin, making his way back to Sherlock. 'Here. Earl Grey, just the way you like it. Is that better?' he asked softly.

'Spose so,' Sherlock mumbled, taking the cup and sipping at the beverage gingerly.

'Ok. Good,' John said, sitting down on the bed. He watched Sherlock sip at the tea, hoping he wouldn't taste the pills dissolved within it. He shouldn't. The tea was strong and the honey was sweet. They should cover up the taste.

'What do you want to do, then? Since I'm not talking about this until your sober and you don't want to sleep it off. What do you normally do? Play violin?'

'Yes,' Sherlock whispered. 'But I don't like you listening to me play. Not since the dream.' Sherlock wrinkled up his nose. 'This tea tastes strange.'

'Really? Oh, crap. I didn't check the milk. Did you have an experiment in there?' John lied, raising an eyebrow for added effect.

'No. It tastes like – oh.' Sherlock glared at the Hobbit. 'How could you halfling? I said I didn't want to sleep.'

'What are you talking about?' John asked playing dumb.

'The pills in my drink,' Sherlock grit out. 'Don't play fucking stupid.'

John scowled at Sherlock. 'Ok, fine, yes. I drugged your drink. Because, forgive me, but I want you to get a good night's sleep. Now drink it or I'll sedate you properly.'

'That's exactly what you threatened to do right before I hurt you!' Sherlock wailed, tossing the cup along with the tea across the room with an almighty crash.

John flinched and ducked just as the mug flew over his head, the tea splashing against the wall as the mug broke. John looked up at Sherlock, scared but not wanting to go anywhere.

'I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so sorry,' he apologised.

'Shut up!' Sherlock barked. 'You think you can just do what you like with me! Well fuck you!'

'I was trying to take care of you!' John wailed, collapsing in a heap on the floor. 'I'm your doctor, and I want you to be healthy. I... I only want what's best for you. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'

'You can start by lying by my side and giving me a cuddle,' Sherlock whined.

John nodded, crawling over to the bed and climbing atop it. He pulled the covers and clung to Sherlock like a baby bat would to its mother.

Sherlock snuggled closer to the Hobbit. 'Are you sure you want to wait till morning to make love?' He kissed the creature on the lips gently and pushed his growing arousal against him.

'I... I'm sure,' John said, pulling away from Sherlock's lips. _I'm not even sure I can anyway._

'It'd help me sleep,' Sherlock pouted, kissing John again. 'Please.'

'Thought you didn't want to sleep?' John mumbled against Sherlock's lips. _I can't, I can't, I can't_, he chanted in his head.

'You pleasured me.' Sherlock chewed on the Hobbit's lower lip. 'Now let me do the same for you.'

John groaned against Sherlock's mouth, his hips canting against his will.

'I... I can't,' John said, tearing his lips from Sherlock's teeth. 'I physically can't.'

'Yes you can.' Sherlock rubbed himself against the Hobbit. 'Feel that?' he moaned. 'Concentrate on that.'

John's face contorted in pain. 'Gah! I can't! I can't! It hurts!' he cried out. He pushed Sherlock away and sat up. 'I'm sorry. But, I can't. Look.' He lifted the sheets to show Sherlock his flaccid penis.

'It's not that I'm not interested, believe me, I am. It's just–' John sighed, lowering the sheets. 'Sherlock, I haven't had an erection in a month and a half. I've trained myself to feel pain every time I get one, and now my body has come to learn to feel pain before one even starts. So I actually can't make love to you.'

'I – no. I should be the one who is sorry,' Sherlock murmured. 'This is my fault.'

'I did it because I thought you didn't want me,' John whispered, turning his head away. 'But, training goes two ways. You can learn it, and you can forget what you learned. So, do you want to help me get back to normal?'

Sherlock smiled softly. 'I'll try.' He reached a hand under the covers to stroke the Hobbit's member.

'Ugh! Fuck!' John cried, his body arching off the bed.

'Shh. It's ok,' Sherlock whispered. 'I love you. It will be ok.'

'I love you too,' John moaned, pulling Sherlock into a kiss. 'I love you so much.'

'Mmm sorry,' Sherlock groaned against the Hobbit's lips. 'For everything. Especially the drugs.'

'I'm sorry for the cutting,' John said, pulling Sherlock closer so his tongue could delve inside his mouth. His hips jerked, pushing his cock through the ring of Sherlock's fist. It gave a twitch of interest before going limp again.

Sherlock hummed and squeezed John's member. 'John,' he mumbled as his tongue danced with the older man's, seeing his flatmate instead of a Hobbit for the first time.

'Sherlock,' John moaned, flicking his tongue along Sherlock's playfully.

'I'm scared.' Sherlock pulled away from John's lips. 'Really scared.'

'Scared of what, love?' John asked, a hand moving to hold Sherlock's face gingerly.

'Being back on drugs,' Sherlock whimpered. 'You don't know what I'm like when I'm an addict.'

'You only took them this once, right?' John asked.

'It only takes one time.' Sherlock rested his forehead against John's and let go of his member. 'It's likely I'll go back to the way I was.'

'No. I won't let you,' John said, shaking his head while grabbing Sherlock's firmly in his hands. 'I'll handcuff you to the bed if I have to, but I won't allow you to become an addict again.'

'Handcuffs won't stop me,' Sherlock snorted. 'Nothing will. And maybe I don't want to stop.'

'Shut up,' John scolded. 'Shut up. I won't let you. I'll stop you. I'll put you in rehab. You will not become an addict again. I refuse to allow that. You won't.'

'Feels so good,' Sherlock growled. 'Feels bloody amazing even.'

'Drugs make you feel that way for a while, but then they turn ugly. I am no stranger to their effects,' John admitted. 'And I won't let you make that mistake again. Please, let me help you.'

Sherlock chuckled. 'What if I don't want to be helped?'

John scowled, dropping his hands from Sherlock's face and scrambling out of bed. 'I'll get Mycroft to help,' he threatened. 'Because I refuse to watch you destroy yourself.'

Sherlock chuckled harder. 'He won't help. He didn't help in my dream. He let me get worse. And then of course there's his own problems he has to deal with. You wouldn't dare bother him with my problems too. He's already gorging himself like a fat piggy.'

'Shut up, Sherlock! Shut up!' John cried, holding his hands over his ears and curling up in a ball on the floor. 'No! I don't want to hear it! No! I don't want you to go back to drugs! Please! Please!' He began sobbing, his hands still clamped over his ears, his sobs echoing in his own head.

'Then stop me!' Sherlock yelled. 'Do what it takes to save me from myself!'

'You said you didn't want to be helped,' John sobbed. 'How do I help someone who doesn't want my help?'

'Perhaps you should call my fat pig of a brother,' Sherlock snarled. 'See what good that does. Go on. I dare you.'

'What happened to us?' John asked himself, ignoring Sherlock's harsh words.

_'He broke your heart and you want to know what happened?'_ a voice hissed in his ear. John froze and looked up. His deranged version of Sherlock was grinning down at him. 'He's not the one who can't get it up. He's not the one seeing me. Despite being on the drugs he's the sanest one here.'

'Go away!' John shouted. 'I got rid of you! Go away! Why are you back?'

_'Oh Jonathan,'_ the deranged Sherlock tutted. _'I never left.'_

'Fine!' Sherlock roared. 'I will!' He rolled from the bed and began to crawl away.

'What? Sherlock, no!' John cried, grasping onto the real Sherlock as the fake one chuckled in his ear. 'I... I didn't mean you, the real you. I meant the fake you. He's still here. And he's sitting behind me, chuckling darkly. And now he's flicking my ear.'

'Is he now?' Sherlock frowned and shuffled forwards, pulling John's body into his arms. He covered John's ears with his hands. 'Better?'

'Yes,' John smiled. 'But, oh god.' John paled considerably. 'Sherlock, he's... he's stabbing you in the neck. No! Leave my Sherlock alone!'

'No he's not,' Sherlock smiled. 'I'm fine.'

'I know, I know,' John sighed. 'But that's not stopping my mind from seeing it.'

'Then maybe this will.' Sherlock brought two of his fingers to his lips and sucked on them. 'I'm going to make love to you, and you'll forget him.' He placed a finger near John's entrance. 'Ready?'

'Yes,' John groaned, pushing against Sherlock's finger. 'Make love to me, please. But, can we get back on the bed first?'

'No.' Sherlock shook his head. 'Here. Now. Make love.' He pushed his finger inside with a loud moan.

'Gah! Fuck!' John groaned, pushing against Sherlock's finger. 'Yes, yes. Oh god, yes!'

Sherlock laughed and added the second finger, stretching John. 'Feels so good to be doing this.'

'Feels bloody fantastic!' John panted, falling down to the floor and spreading his legs open. 'God yes! Oh fuck! Gah!'

'I want you.' Sherlock kissed John heavily, pumping his fingers in and out at a frantic rhythm.

'Yes! I want you too! Fuck!' John swore. His prick wanted to harden but the phantom pain in his leg wouldn't allow it. He pulled Sherlock in for another kiss, tangling his fingers in his hair, shoving his tongue down Sherlock's throat.

'Take me!' he gasped when Sherlock's fingers found his prostate. 'Take me now!'

Sherlock smirked and wriggled his fingers back out. 'I'm going to pound you like the halfling you are,' he snarled, shoving his prick inside of screamed bloody murder, his back arching up off the floor as his legs wrapped around Sherlock's waist.

'Yes! Sherlock yes! Fuck me! Pound me! Do whatever you want to me! Just fuck me, please!' John cried out. His prick gave a flicker of interest, the blood flowing from his brain down to it. It slowly began to harden and the phantom pain began to fade. Sherlock thrust manically. His drug addled mind made everything feel so slow. He wasn't moving fast enough.

_Harder_, his mind called out. _Faster. _

Two whole months of fear, emotions that he couldn't explain, and no sex had left him lusting for hard and slightly painful love making.

'Yes! Yes!' John screamed, meeting Sherlock thrust for thrust. Two months of pent up sexual need had made John a whiny, needy excuse of a man. And now that he was being fucked hard and fast for the first time in six months he knew he wouldn't be able to last. His balls were already drawn tight against him and his prick, hard for the first time in weeks, was already leaning profusely.

'Close,' John gasped out, clutching to Sherlock tightly. 'So close. Won't last. Oh, fuck!'

Sherlock thrust particularly harshly. 'John!' he screamed, spilling inside of him.

His entire body arched and he fell onto John with a thud, still thrusting in and out, but this time with the added sound effects of snoring as his drug high was starting to end now and he felt exhausted. He was practically asleep in fact.

'Sherlock,' John whined, desperate to cum. 'Come on, love. Help me over the edge. Please. Please. Don't go to sleep yet. I need you to make me cum. Please.'

Sherlock whimpered and began to run a hand up and down John's member. All the while more snores escaped his lips. John rut against Sherlock's hand, Sherlock's softening prick still up his arse. It all felt so good, even Sherlock falling asleep, because his weight was pressed against him, causing him to squeeze John tighter.

'Oh. Oh god. Yes! Sherlock yes!' John cried, shouting Sherlock's name as he came almost painfully hard. He collapsed against the floor in a heap, Sherlock falling with him. His entire weight pressed against him now, and he had begun snoring softly.

'Oh god,' John laughed, very much out of breath. 'Oh, thank you for that. Time for bed now.' He rolled Sherlock off of him, standing up and wiping his cum off his stomach with one of Sherlock's old pyjama t-shirts. He picked Sherlock up off the floor, cradling him in his arms as he carried him to bed. He set Sherlock in the bed, pulling the covers around him and placing a gentle kiss on his forehead before climbing in himself.

'Thank you so much for this,' John whispered, cuddling up to Sherlock's sleeping form. 'You have no idea how much that meant to me. I... I love you. So much.'

Sherlock didn't answer, but John hadn't expected one. John simply snuggled closer, resting his head on Sherlock's chest, falling asleep to the beating of his lover's heart.

* * *

So there was some sexy times! Yay! Though I know parts of it seemed like dubious consent, but each participant was all for it I swear.

We'll be facing drug withdrawals in the next chapter, as well as more sexy times. Ones where everyone involved is a willing participant. So that'll be a nice chapter to have on Red Pants Monday ;) Hope you all have a wonderful weekend and I'll see you in September!

TSA + IB


	30. Making Up

Happy Monday everyone! So this is a combination chapter of fluff, smut, and angst. A triple threat. But our boys are officially back together and things will start to look up a bit.

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock

Me: John, Greg, Mycroft

_Warnings for this chapter: coming down from a high, nearly passing out from having too high a fever, comfort sex, I-really-fucking-missed-you sex, blow jobs in the kitchen, light bondage, and mentions of a possible eating disorder._

* * *

Chapter 30 - Making Up

Sherlock awoke with a start.

The first thing he noticed was his inability to breathe through his nose. The second was the familiar shitty feeling of coming down from a high. And the third was that he was snuggled in John's arms. When had he gotten here? Why were they snuggled together?

He groaned and shifted in John's arms. He was hot. Burning up then? Fever? He was ill. Brilliant. Ill and disoriented, and craving more drugs.

John felt Sherlock shift beneath him and moved closer. Sherlock was incredibly warm. Feverish even. Oh dear. Had he gotten sick? John wrinkled his nose and blearily opened his eyes, blinking the sleep away. He sat up and stretched, his back sore from being fucked so rough yet brilliantly against the hardwood floor.

'Morning,' he yawned, glancing down at Sherlock. 'How are you feeling this morning? Because you look a little pale.'

'Like shit,' Sherlock groaned heavily, his voice sounding odd, distorted by his blocked nose.

'You sound a little stuffy,' John noted. He placed the back of his hand against Sherlock's forehead, taking his temperature. 'And you seem to have a fever. A cold, perhaps, brought on from you standing out in the rain while you were high.'

Sherlock hummed. 'Maybe. Sorry about that by the way. I don't know what I did last night but sorry.' A small cough broke out of his lips. 'How did we end up here... together?'

'You... You don't remember how we got here?' John asked, his lower lip trembling in fear.

'No. I'm gathering it was significant?' Sherlock ran a hand through John's blonde locks.

'It was highly significant,' John pouted, climbing out of the bed and moving to the door. 'Root around in your mind palace for a while until you find it. I'm sure it must be in there. I'm gonna go make tea. Do you want some?'

Sherlock screwed his eyes shut and shook his head, covering a hand over his mouth as nausea washed over him.

'Up,' John instructed. 'If you're gonna be sick, don't get sick in here. Use the kitchen sink or the loo. Can you make it?'

Sherlock shook his head and sank further into the bed with a whimper.

'Ok. Fine. Here.' John went into the kitchen, pulling a bucket out from the cupboard under the sink. 'If you're going to be sick, get sick in this, ok?'

Sherlock nodded and groaned. 'I think I'm dying,' he mumbled into his hands.

'Don't be ridiculous, love,' John smiled lightly. 'You aren't dying. It's a head cold. And a pretty bad one from the looks of it. I can make you some soup if you'd like?'

'I am dying,' Sherlock complained. 'But soup might help me go less painfully, so yes. I'll have some soup.'

'Since you're dying, can I move into your bedroom when you're gone?' John asked playfully.

Sherlock shrugged. 'You can do whatever you like,' he sighed and wriggled further under the covers.

'Alright. Go back to sleep. Soup will be ready for you whenever you wake up.' John strode to the door, pausing before he left. 'But, do root around in your palace for what happened last night. Because I'm sure as shit not gonna tell you if you can't remember.'

'It has something to do with us, doesn't it?' Sherlock asked sleepily. 'An easy enough deduction to make. Especially since you're back to calling me "love."'

The detective was too busy concentrating on looking through his mind palace that he didn't even notice that John was already gone.

John could hear Sherlock muttering to himself as he walked away. Or maybe he thought John was still there and was talking to him. John smiled at the thought. He quickly went upstairs to his room and put on some comfortable clothes. It was Sunday, he didn't have to work, but it would seem he would be taking care of a patient anyway.

He went back downstairs and put a pot on the stove, pouring a can of tomato soup in it and half a can of milk, just to thicken it up. As the soup heated John made himself a piece of toast, spreading some raspberry jam on top when it popped up. He stirred the soup, added just a little more milk, then stirred it again. He tested its temperature with his pinkie. Nope, not yet.

John made himself a cup of tea while he waited, steeping the bag in the water for a bit longer than he normally would. _Is Sherlock really asleep? Or is he rooting around in his mind palace like I asked?  
_  
Sherlock shifted through phases of lightly dozing to filtering through his mind palace.

It was slowly coming back to him. The events of last night could be seen in two ways. They could be catastrophic to his and John's relationship, or they could sew the raging gap that had been between them back together.

John knocked on Sherlock's door lightly, not wanting to wake him if he was asleep.

'Hey, Sherlock. You awake?' he whispered, opening the door just enough so that he could peer in. 'Soup's ready.'

'So, as I was saying, after yesterday's events–' Sherlock trailed off. 'John?' he questioned, peering over his covers. 'How long have you been gone?'

'You really do just keep talking when I'm away, don't you?' John smiled. He moved to sit on the edge of the bed and stroked a stray curl off of Sherlock's forehead. 'I've been gone at least twenty minutes, maybe thirty. What were "we" talking about during that time?'

'We were discussing what happened last night. It's hardly my fault that you weren't listening.' Sherlock sniffed and coughed loudly.

'Well then, I apologise. I'll try to pay more attention next time,' John grinned. 'So, start from the beginning. What about last night?'

'I was high, and the moment I stumbled through the door I was on you and begging for you to suck me off,' Sherlock groaned. 'And what a marvellous job you did.'

'Mmm,' John hummed, smiling at the memory. 'Thanks. You tasted just as delicious as I remembered.'

'I'm a little surprised that you gave in so easily. I was high and you usually take the moral high ground.' Sherlock smiled softly. 'It's about time you were a little selfish.'

'I, uh, yeah,' John blushed. 'I think it was also because I was half awake. But selfish works too. I just, I wanted to remember how you tasted.'

'Understandable.' Sherlock reached out and gripped John's hand in his. 'I would have done the same.'

John ran his thumb over the back of Sherlock's hand, running it over his knuckles.

'Yeah. I also didn't want Smeagol-Sherlock to "kill" me,' he grinned. 'But mostly I was selfish and just wanted to have you.'

'You always had me, idiot. All you had to do was slap me and talk some bloody sense back into me,' Sherlock smiled fondly.

'And I wanted to, believe me,' John sighed. 'But every argument I came up with the fake you shot down.'

Sherlock nodded and glanced sorrowfully at the scars on John's thighs and arms. 'So you hurt yourself instead.' It wasn't a question.

'Yes,' John answered honestly. 'It was easier than facing my feelings and the thought that you didn't want me anymore. Or that you never did.'

'I wanted you to see through my lies. You usually do,' Sherlock sniffed loudly. 'You're the detective of hearts. All I wanted was for you to deduce what was going on and stop it. Because I couldn't stop it myself.'

'But your actions were so confusing,' John said. 'In hospital you were very caring and loving, like the lover I knew. You chased the voice away and told him not to come back. But at home you were distant and secluded, causing the voice to come back but he manifested. I can see him now. And he looks like a deranged version of you. How I picture you would look if you ever became an addict again. But then I got you off in the shower and we had a case and we were happy. But then you took drugs again and had me suck you off, and then you chased the voice away again and everything was ok. You said that you loved me, and that made it all okay. I know I shouldn't accept you back into my life so easily or quickly, but if you want to get back together I am more than willing.'

'My actions confused myself. I wasn't in my right mind. I was scared and craving drugs. If I thought I was a danger to you before, then when my cravings came along I felt even more likely to hurt you. Which is why I pulled away from you.' Sherlock was a little teary eyed now.

'Because I am so scared of hurting you, John. So bloody scared that one day you'll say something that will hit a raw nerve and I'll flip out and hurt you. I might kill you even!'

'Like I did in your dream?' John asked softly, squeezing Sherlock's hand tightly.

'I had dementia in the dream and you commented on the fact that I had started to forget how to play my violin. My violin is everything to me. I got angry. I hadn't slept in a week. I had more caffeine in my veins than blood. And I... I snapped.' Sherlock hid his face in his hands. 'I'm sorry!'

'Shhh, love. Shhh,' John hushed, pulling Sherlock into his lap and hugging him close. 'It's alright. It was just a dream. I would never actually insult your violin playing. I wouldn't be so reckless. I know how much you love her. How much she means to you. It's ok now. Shhh. Shhh.'

'It was so real,' Sherlock sobbed. 'I can still feel the pressure of the gun in my mouth. I can still see the look in your eyes as you tumbled down the stairs. I can hear the screams of our children and the pounding on the door as they tried to get me to stop.'

He gasped for breath. 'And as I woke I lost everything. I lost my children, my nephew, my husband. I lost everything! They all died!'

'Nephew?' John asked, clutching Sherlock tightly to him. 'Is that who Mark is? The one you were talking about after you woke up?'

'Yes,' Sherlock squeaked out. 'Little Mark.' His face broke out in a grin despite himself. 'Imagine a really tiny Mycroft with even redder hair, and an outrageous temper.'

John ran the image through his mind and smiled. 'Sounds like he'd be a handful but completely adorable. You know, if Mycroft could ever be adorable.'

'He was the definition of adorable,' Sherlock agreed. 'And now he's... dead.' Away went the grin and back came the tears.

John ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair, humming a wordless tune and rocking him gently.

'I'm sorry you lost so many good people,' he whispered. 'I only wish I could comfort you more. How do you console someone who is grieving over fictional people?'

'They seem so real to me,' Sherlock's voice shook. 'There is nothing you can do. You'll never understand.'

'No, I won't,' John said, not even attempting to deny it. Instead he placed a kiss to Sherlock's temple, then beside his eye, slowly working his way down Sherlock's face and neck.

'I'm sorry that you lost your family,' he muttered against Sherlock's pulse. 'May I comfort you in the only way I know how?'

Sherlock clutched to John, whimpering. 'Please,' he begged. 'Please.'

John kissed his way back up Sherlock's jaw, slowly lowering him down to the bed before climbing atop him and finally connecting their lips. The kiss was slow, languid, and absolutely perfect. Sherlock felt utterly dizzy under John's influence. His feverish body shivered under his lover's cool skin and more whimpers emitted from his lips.

'Tell me what you want,' John whispered against Sherlock's lips. 'Tell me what you need.' He rocked gently against his lover, feeling them both harden as he moved.

'I need you, slow, but hard,' Sherlock whispered back. 'I need you to show me that things will get better.'

'Ok,' John agreed, kissing Sherlock slowly and lovingly again. When he pulled away he grinned. 'Do you want to be the one to undress me?'

'Yes,' he nodded eagerly, allowing his hands to study the flat planes of John's chest before gently helping him out of his clothes.

John shivered as Sherlock's fingers ghosted over his flesh. He lifted his arms as Sherlock took off his shirt and wriggled his arse in the air as he took off his trousers. He laughed when Sherlock ran his fingers down his ribs, pressing his head into Sherlock's shoulder.

'Do you–' Another laugh. 'Do you still have lube in your bedside drawer?' he asked, sitting up and sitting on Sherlock's hips.

'Mmm, yes,' Sherlock replied, not really paying attention.

He moved his hands to trace over John's scars. 'Can you ever forgive me?'

'I'm starting to,' John said softly. He moved to the drawer and pulled it open, pulling out the lube and noticing it was brand new.

'Have you been hoarding this in the hope that we'd get back together?' he asked with a grin. He moved back over to Sherlock but sat between his legs, nudging them further apart.

Sherlock blushed. 'Perhaps I was,' he admitted shyly.

'Good,' John grinned, kissing him until they were both out of breath. 'Raise your knees, love. And let me treat you right.'

Sherlock shifted his knees upwards. 'I love you so much,' he gasped out.

'I love you too, Sherlock,' John moaned. He opened the lube and poured a liberal amount on his fingers, wanting Sherlock to feel comfortable after six months of nothing.

'Ready?' he asked, swirling his slick fingers around Sherlock's entrance, pushing gently.

'Not really, no.' Sherlock tensed. 'It feels like my first time again.'

'I felt like that last night too,' John said, continuing to push gently against Sherlock but not breaching into him just yet. 'I'll go slow, make sure you're comfortable.'

'Why? I practically raped you last night. I wasn't slow and I didn't check if you were comfortable.' Sherlock wriggled against John's finger.

'I didn't care. You asked and I said yes. That was good enough for me.' John pushed back against Sherlock, his finger sliding in slowly to the first knuckle.

Sherlock's mouth flew open. 'Oooh,' he grunted.

'I should have been gentle,' he mumbled. 'Should have at least brought you to the bed.'

'It's fine, love,' John murmured, pushing his finger further inside. 'You were high, we were both desperate, and I wanted you so bad.'

Sherlock groaned and shuddered. 'Shouldn't have been high in the first place.'

'No, you shouldn't have,' John agreed. He began pumping his finger in a steady rhythm, watching Sherlock closely.

Sherlock smiled and moaned loudly. 'Mmm sorry,' he apologised, making small noises of appreciation all the while. 'I knew it was wrong. That's why I went to Dodgy Dave–'

'Shhh,' John shushed him sternly. 'I don't want to hear it. Focus on this, not what you did. We'll discuss that later.' John added his second finger and pushed in slowly, Sherlock clamping down around him.

'Sorry,' Sherlock exhaled, rocking against John's fingers slowly but enthusiastically. John pushed his fingers in more, scissoring them slightly to stretch Sherlock out more. Sherlock watched John carefully, allowing the feeling of pleasure to rip through him. He allowed himself to feel everything he had been trying to hide and lock away inside himself over the past two months. He moved in time with John's actions, rejoicing in finally being reunited with him. His lover looked like an angel, hovering above him. A thin sheen of sweat was beading on his skin. He had never looked so utterly beautiful.

'I want you,' John gasped, pumping his fingers quickly. 'I want you so much.'

'You can have me,' Sherlock purred. 'You can have me.'

_Please, John. I've never needed you more than I do now.  
_  
'Then I'm taking you,' John growled. He removed his fingers and slicked his very erect prick. He hadn't even felt a phantom pain that time. He grabbed one of Sherlock's thighs and pushed it down, opening Sherlock further.

'I am taking you all for myself. No one but I can have you,' he growled, shoving his prick inside Sherlock fast and hard. 'You're mine. Mine.'

Sherlock's eyes slid closed, his eyelids becoming heavy with pleasure. 'I've missed you. I've missed this. I love you!' He laughed. God it felt good to laugh. Why did he put himself and John through hell over the past few months? The answer was lost on him as John hit his prostate. John thrust hard and slow, just as Sherlock asked. He managed to find Sherlock's prostate rather easily, hitting it as often as he could.

'I want you to scream for me Sherlock,' he said in a hushed voice. 'It's been too long since you've screamed for me. Please, let me know how much I'm pleasing you. Please. Scream.'

Sherlock opened his mouth and a high pitched sound rang out from the depths of his throat. Louder and louder his screams got, spiraling higher and higher into the air.

'That's it Sherlock,' John purred, thrusting harder. 'Yes, yes!' He felt fantastic, his cock throbbing in Sherlock's arse. Sherlock's was twitching and leaking from being left unattended. John grabbed it with his lubed hand and squeezed, stroking in time to his thrusts.

'John, I'm going to–' Sherlock's prick tensed before exploding, jetting cum everywhere. He arched and screamed again before coming to a standstill.

'Jesus fuck, Sherlock,' John gasped, watching his lover cum all over their chests and stomachs. 'God damn, I think that was the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Oh. Oh fuck.'

John's hips stuttered as he neared his release. He released Sherlock's prick and grasped his hips instead, thrusting harder and faster. He was close, so close. He was nearly there. Just a few more. Just a–

A loud cry erupted from John's throat as he came hard. His mouth fell open, he threw his head back and grit his teeth, his entire body convulsing as he came. He collapsed against Sherlock, his heart hammering in his chest, his breath coming in short gasps.

Sherlock chuckled and kissed his lover on the lips. 'That was the most pleasurable and fantastic love making session that we have ever been through.'

He rocked back on John's member and hummed. 'Thank you. I did not deserve this.'

'Gah! Fuck!' John swore, pulling out of Sherlock. 'Sorry. Really sensitive.' He leaned up and kissed Sherlock briefly before collapsing on him again.

'I think that was the most powerful orgasm I've ever had. I'm boneless and shaking,' John laughed. 'And yeah, you might not have deserved it, but you needed it. I needed it too. Thanks for letting me do that. I... I love you.'

'I love you too,' Sherlock sighed happily. 'I just hope I don't end up hurting you, physically at least. The emotional damage is already done.'

'We'll work through it,' John sighed. His eyelids were beginning to feel heavy. 'Wanna nap now.'

'Don't suppose that soup is still up for grabs first?' Sherlock asked, kissing the tip of John's nose. 'Though it's probably gone cold by now.'

'Soup's still on. Just turn the burner on to its lowest setting. Should heat up pretty quickly,' John mumbled, burrowing against Sherlock's side.

'I don't know if you remember, but my cane's still abandoned in the lounge.' Sherlock shook his head in amusement, John already falling asleep cuddled up against him.

'Then crawl and get it,' John mumbled. He tossed an arm over Sherlock's waist and pulled him close, clearly saying, 'don't you dare go away.'

'Wasn't hungry anyway,' Sherlock grumbled, clutching John to him.

**…::-::…**

John slept dreamlessly, clutching to Sherlock and nuzzling against him in his sleep. He knew he hadn't slept long when he woke up. The sun was higher in the sky, but not by much if the shadows in the room were anything to go by. He shifted against his warm lover, humming against his chest. John hitched a leg over Sherlock's and began rutting against his hip.

'We have a lot of time to compensate for,' John whispered huskily. 'I want you to pound me now, my arse in the air, and I want you to spank me as you see fit.'

Sherlock's fever had spiked during the short space of time he and John had been sleeping but he wasn't going to mention it.

'Alright, your royal highness. As you command.' He moved so he was on top of John and kissed him fully on the lips. John's hands cupped Sherlock's face as they kissed, noticing how warm his cheeks were but thinking nothing of it. They roamed down Sherlock's back, dipping in between his ribs, before stopping in the curve of his lower back, just above his bum. John squeezed and kneaded the flesh there, slowly dipping down and grabbing a handful of Sherlock's luscious arse and squeezing, rocking him forward slightly.

Sherlock grunted and tried to move his arse away from John's hands. 'Still sensitive. You worked your usual magic on my arse and now I'm paying for it.'

'Mmm, good,' John hummed. He released his hold on Sherlock's arse and moved his hands to his hips, pulling him down so their hardening cocks could slide together.

'That better?' John moaned as he pulled Sherlock in for another kiss.

'Far better, yes.' Sherlock vibrated against John, rubbing himself against his lover whilst allowing his hands to explore every part of him. John arched into Sherlock's touch, giggling slightly when his fingers ghosted over his ribs. He continued rutting against Sherlock all the while, holding onto his hips and pinning him against him.

'You're beautiful,' Sherlock whispered softly. 'So beautiful.' He grabbed the lube from earlier, or what was left of it at least, and squeezed it onto his fingers. 'It's about time I showed you just how beautiful you are.'

'Mmm, yes,' John said breathlessly. He turned onto his stomach and rose up on his knees, wiggling his arse teasingly. 'Make me feel gorgeous.'

Sherlock inserted one finger, bending it as he pushed it deeper. 'I plan to make you feel extremely gorgeous.'

John groaned and pushed back on Sherlock's finger. His hands grabbed the bed sheets tightly, rocking back on Sherlock's finger steadily.

Sherlock chuckled as he added another finger. 'I wish I could film you.' He laughed harder. 'Not in a creepy way. Just so I can replay it when I'm having a bad day. It's most amusing indeed, watching what I can do to you.'

John mulled that one over. In his current state it didn't sound too bad. 'Maybe another time, love. Could be highly erotic if used properly.'

'Oh, it was.' Sherlock kissed John, forcing his tongue down his throat without another word.

_It was? Did we–? In the dream?_ John moaned into their kiss, reaching his own tongue out to dance with Sherlock's. He rocked back on Sherlock's fingers, begging for more. Sherlock's and John's tongues tangoed for a while as he stretched his lover further. He gazed into John's eyes, still begging for forgiveness that he wasn't sure he really deserved.

John gently held Sherlock's cheek in his palm, caressing it with his thumb. 'We'll work though this. We'll work through this,' he chanted against Sherlock's lips. 'Take me. Take me now. Please.'

Sherlock shivered, John's hands seeming so cool against his feverish skin. 'As you wish, my love.' He slipped his fingers back out and replaced them with his member, working himself in like a corkscrew on a wine bottle. John pressed his face into the mattress, groaning as Sherlock entered him. He pushed back against him, wanting him buried balls deep as quickly as possible.

'Pound me into the mattress,' he growled. 'Fuck me with no mercy. Make me feel gorgeous.'

'Be careful what you wish for,' Sherlock growled as he began to carry out John's orders to the letter.

John grunted and groaned and moaned as Sherlock fucked him. His hands grasped the sheets tightly, his face pressed into a pillow to muffle his screams. He sank down on his knees, spreading them further apart, revealing more of himself to Sherlock. God, it all felt so bloody fantastic. His skin felt like it was on fire, his heart felt like it was going to explode, and his legs ached from how they were stretched. But he didn't care. Sherlock, his love, was fucking him into their mattress and everything was finally right with the world. They would be ok, they would work through this rough patch, and they would be happy.

John's thought process stopped completely when Sherlock found his prostate, hitting it again and again, turning John into a writhing, stuttering mess of arousal and need.

Sherlock loved this, the way he made John feel. He'd forgotten how good it felt to make love. All that emotion then bundled and packaged into something physical. It was magical.

'Don't hide your screams,' he hissed down John's ear.

That was all it took for John to explode. He screamed Sherlock's name at the top of his lungs, some profanities mixed in there as well. He thrust back against his love, his body shaking from exertion and pleasure flowing through him.

'Touch me,' he begged, turning to look at Sherlock. 'Touch me please. Make me cum.'

Sherlock grinned and wrapped his long fingers around John's member. He gave it a tight squeeze and thrust forwards harshly at the same time. John gave a harsh cry and pushed into Sherlock's fist, whimpering at the dual sensations.

'Close, close,' he mumbled, his hands clutching the sheets tightly. 'Almost, ah!' Sherlock twisted his hand and pumped himself in and out frantically.

'Come on!' he ordered. John screamed until his throat hurt and his voice was hoarse. He thrust against Sherlock's cock and into his fist frantically, finally cumming long and hard with a hoarse shout of his lover's name. Sherlock continued to pump himself in and out until he too found himself cumming with an almighty explosion and cry of John's name. John reached back and clutched Sherlock's hip tightly.

'Stay... Stay in me for a bit,' he panted. 'Stay. Then... Then I'll take care of you.'

Sherlock rested his head on John's shoulder and groaned loudly. He was quite happy to just lie here. He was fairly sure that his fever had spiked further and he truly felt tremendously ill.

'You're really hot,' John commented. 'And I don't mean just in looks.' He held a hand to Sherlock's forehead and frowned.

'I wasn't going to mention anything,' Sherlock mumbled.

'Love, I don't want you to get sicker,' John sighed. 'Let me do my doctorly duty and nurse you back to health.'

Sherlock didn't reply. He suddenly found himself too weak to do anything. He simply molded his burning body further into John's.

'Ugh, Sherlock, love, you're heavy,' John groaned. 'Sherlock? Sherlock? Don't you dare pass out on me!'

Sherlock managed to grunt in reply as his eyes fluttered shut and his body slumped further.

'Sherlock? Love, you're scaring me!' John was outright panicking now. He had to get Sherlock's fever down, and fast. He managed to crawl out from underneath Sherlock and dashed to the bathroom, filling the tub with ice cold water. He ran back to the room, Sherlock covered in a thin sheen of sweat. John gingerly picked him up and carried him to the tub, placing him in the water with his head near the faucet. He let the cold water run over Sherlock's forehead, splashing a bit onto his face to see if he would wake up.

'Come on, love. Come on,' John begged. 'Don't do this to me. Not when I've just gotten you back. Wake up. Please. Wake up.'

Sherlock's head lolled to one side as he tried to speak but no sound came out. He opened his eyes briefly before shutting them again. His fever was a stubborn bitch and still writhed beneath his skin and god dammit did everything ache and burn.

'Sherlock? Sherlock, come on baby. Stay with me,' John pleaded. 'Sherlock, I swear to god, if you die on me–' John didn't want to complete that thought. He didn't even want to imagine living in a world where Sherlock didn't exist. He shook his head of the thoughts, turning to gently slapping Sherlock's face instead.

'Come on. Wake up! Wake up you stupid git!'

Sherlock batted John's hands away, scrunching his eyes shut. 'Honestly, I'm fine,' he croaked. 'Just sleepy.'

'Sherlock, your fever is too damn high if you're this tired. That, and you haven't said anything about how cold the water is. So don't tell me you're fine when it is very clear that you aren't!' John closed his eyes and took a deep breath, calming himself down.

'Sorry I yelled. You just had me worried. I thought you were going to pass out on me because your fever was so high. Here.' He reached in the cupboard under the sink and pulled a small medical kit, pulling a thermometer out of it. 'Hold this under your tongue for a minute and we'll see how hot you really are.'

Sherlock pulled a face as he held the foreign object underneath his tongue. His body was beginning to shake now, and his breathing was uneven. 'Told you I was dying,' he mumbled around the thermometer.

'Shhh. No talking. I want an accurate reading,' John grumbled. He turned the faucet off at least, allowing Sherlock's head some relief from the cold water. Sherlock moaned and found his head rolling to one side again.

'Bah! Hey! Focus!' John said, grabbing Sherlock's chin and shifting his head back. 'Try to stay conscious, alright? I'll let you sleep once I see where we stand.' Sherlock blinked sleepily and hummed, trying his hardest to stay awake. John took the thermometer out of Sherlock's mouth, pinching Sherlock slightly to wake him.

'You've got a fever of forty,' John tsked. 'And that's after being in this cold water for a while too. It's not life threatening until it gets to forty two, so you aren't dying. I'll let you sleep now. Just let me get you in some warm pyjamas and back into bed.'

Sherlock groaned but nodded his head in agreement. 'Alright,' he sighed. 'Help me out then.'

John grabbed Sherlock and hoisted him out of the tub, water dripping everywhere. John didn't care at the moment. He'd lay some towels down later. He dried Sherlock off and drained the tub. He then carefully hoisted Sherlock into his arms, carrying him back to bed. He rooted through Sherlock's drawers before he found what he was looking for: a pair of blue silk pyjamas that matched the dressing gown perfectly. He helped Sherlock into a pair of pants before pulling the trousers on, the shirt going on much easier.

'I'm going to go to the store and get some supplies, alright? Call my mobile if you need anything.'

Sherlock settled under the covers, burying his head in his pillow. 'Ok. Please hurry,' he whispered hoarsely. 'Missing you already.'

'Miss you too, love,' John smiled softly. He placed a soft kiss to Sherlock's forehead before disappearing upstairs to get dressed. When he trudged back downstairs he noticed Sherlock's hoodie still laying on the floor. John examined his jacket and quickly took it off, replacing it with Sherlock's hoodie. It smelled of rain and Sherlock, causing John to smile. It was still quite damp from the rainstorm but the sun was shining and John figured it would dry a bit more on his walk to Tesco's. He grabbed his keys and his wallet, propping Sherlock's cane outside his door should he want it.

The walk to Tesco's was refreshing. It felt good to get out of the house after all that had happened. Drugged sex, healing sex, comfort sex, and making up for lost time sex. All those emotions really took it out of John. The air was crisp and clean, the sun was warm and bright. All in all, perfect. John grinned as he made his way down the block, walking into Tesco's feeling refreshed and ready for anything.

He grabbed what he needed and quickly made his way out. Liquid cold medicine as well as pills, three boxes of tissues, some more soup, some oranges, and some Jammie Dodgers. They were Sherlock's guilty pleasure snack and John was partial to the biscuit as well.

He made it back to Baker Street and entered the flat, putting the groceries away before knocking on Sherlock's door.

'Love? You awake?' he asked softly. 'I brought some medicine for you to take and then you can go back to sleep. Ok?'

Sherlock was in a deep, feverish sleep. He was back in the dream world, hugging his children to him. Mycroft was there too, and little Mark who was currently possessing a very cheeky grin.

But then there was John. He was on the ground in a puddle of blood.

'John!' he screamed. 'God no! Please! I'm sorry!'

'Sherlock?' John asked, worried. He entered the room, setting the pills and water on the bedside table. He shook Sherlock's shoulder gently, trying to rouse him.

'John!' Sherlock sobbed. 'I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you!'

'Sherlock. Sherlock, honey wake up,' John said a little louder, shaking him harder. 'I'm fine. I'm safe. I'm not hurt.'

'I can't wake up!' Sherlock cried. He couldn't for the life of him escape the dream.

_What do I do? What do I do?_ John panicked. _Smelling salts!  
_  
He dashed off to his room, rooting through his bigger medical kit and pulled out three little packets of smelling salts. He dashed back downstairs and rushed into Sherlock's room. He was shaking now. Dear god. What was he dreaming about? John broke open the first packet and held it under Sherlock's nose. The man began coughing and spluttering as he began to wake, John almost crying in relief. Sherlock bolted upright, panting, sweat dripping down his feverish skin.

'John!' he squealed in delight, seeing the man unharmed.

'Hi Sherlock,' John grinned in relief. 'Welcome back.'

Sherlock collapsed back onto the bed with an audible groan. 'I feel crappy.' He wiped a hand over his forehead, removing layers of sweat.

'Do you want some food? I got more soup, and the stuff from earlier is still on the stove,' John offered. 'I'd like you to have some more fluids in your body, ok?'

Sherlock nodded. 'Here's hoping I can keep it down.'

'Yeah. Same here,' John muttered. He helped Sherlock sit up, stopping when Sherlock paled and looked a little dizzy. They made their way to the kitchen like that, pausing every few steps or so to make sure Sherlock didn't vomit all over himself or the floor or John.

John managed to sit Sherlock at the table, clearing as much of it off as he could. Sherlock had been running experiments more frequently in the past few weeks or so, and the table had paid for it heavily. John made a mental note to go out and buy another one.

John turned the stovetop back on, heating the soup from earlier. He dampened a washcloth in warm water and dabbed at Sherlock's forehead, cleaning it of the layers of sweat.

'Do I dare ask what you were dreaming about?' he asked softly.

Sherlock took a deep breath. 'You,' he said, voice shaking. 'My nightmares are always the same now. They all involve me hurting you.'

John pressed the washcloth a little too hard against Sherlock's head at that. He pulled it back when the man grunted in discomfort.

'Do you always hurt me the same way?' be asked softly.

'No. Not always,' Sherlock said in a small voice. 'You'd be surprised by the amount of ways that I can hurt you. My twisted mind has come up with many.'

'Ok. Let's not focus on that then,' John said, still dabbing at Sherlock's forehead. 'I'm safe now. You haven't hurt me. Look.' He stood back for Sherlock to sweep his gaze over his form, probably taking in that John could wear his hoodie with ease if the crease in his forehead was anything to go by.

Sherlock smiled softly after a while. John looked like a purple hedgehog in his hoodie. The sight was beyond adorable. 'Yes. I know.' He reached out a hand to stroke John's chin.

'Trying to grow facial hair?' he asked in amusement, glad of the change in subject.

'No. Just haven't shaved in a couple days,' John said, leaning into Sherlock's touch. 'And it's my day off so I probably won't until Monday morning.'

'Shame,' Sherlock sighed in disappointment. 'I think it's rather sexy on you.'

'Oh? So you like me with a little scruff?' John asked, playfully rubbing his whiskered cheek against Sherlock's palm.

'I certainly do,' Sherlock moaned. 'Is it bad that I find stubble on you almost erotic?' He rubbed his hand against the facial hair frantically.

'I don't think so, no,' John grinned. 'Know where else I can give you whisker burns?' He grinned and licked his lips.

'Go ahead.' Sherlock, in turn, ran his tongue over his lips too.

John sank to his knees and pushed Sherlock's apart, sliding between them. He laughed at Sherlock's expression. He had clearly been expecting a kiss and not what John was about to give him. John grinned triumphantly and nuzzled against the erection growing in Sherlock's trousers.

'Mmm, you smell so good,' he moaned, rubbing his whiskered cheek against Sherlock's clothed thigh. 'I want these off. And your pants too.'

'Do you now?' Sherlock raised an eyebrow. 'Isn't that lovely.' He rubbed his erection against John. 'What are you going to do about it?'

'As I have said before, you are a terrible submissive,' John smirked. He trailed his hands up Sherlock's thighs, squeezing them slightly before moving up and grabbing the waistband of both trousers and pants and hoisting them down so they fell around Sherlock's ankles. Sherlock's erection bobbed free, almost reaching for John's lips. John smirked and groped it, pumping it enough to get it completely hard and to make the man it belonged to keen with want.

Sherlock slipped down his seat, a whimpering ball of lusting detective. 'Being the submissive one is dull,' he gasped out. 'Quite dull indeed.'

'Oh, but I do enjoy watching you lose control,' John purred, groping Sherlock a little harder. 'Makes me feel... powerful.' He licked Sherlock from base to tip but didn't suck him into his mouth just yet. He wanted Sherlock to be completely at his mercy.

Sherlock sighed, giving in. 'Yes!' he shouted. 'You're powerful. You're my powerful army doctor!'

'Thank you.' John grinned smugly before swallowing Sherlock whole, making sure to brush his whiskered cheeks against Sherlock's thighs. Sherlock was completely out of it. He wasn't sure whether it was John's ministrations or the fever he still possessed. Maybe both.

He was off his game and if he heard the steps creaking he ignored it. It wasn't important right now. He thrust forwards with a loud grunt and rubbed his thigh against the rough texture of John's stubble. John swallowed around Sherlock's cock, feeling him pulse and throb. He rose up and hollowed his cheeks, sucking on his head before he heard it.

'John? Sherlock? It's Greg. I just wanted to see how you guys were doing since yesterday. And Myc's here too.'

John's eyes widened in fear. _Don't walk in. Don't walk in. Don't walk in._

'Where are you guys?' Greg opened the door and walked into the sitting room, glancing around before turning to the kitchen. 'Oh my god!' He scrambled from the room and John released Sherlock's cock with an obscene pop.

_Fuck.  
_  
'Well that rather killed the moment,' Sherlock grumbled, pulling his trousers back up over his hips.

He sighed and wiped a hand down his face. 'You can come in now,' he sighed, not in the least bit happy. Greg peered around the corner, making sure it was indeed safe before entering.

'So, yeah. Good afternoon,' he coughed awkwardly. 'I came by to check if Sherlock had returned. When you didn't call last night I figured you'd probably gone to sleep. But this morning – I just wanted to be sure.'

'Yeah. Sorry Greg. I was a bit... preoccupied,' John blushed, standing up and sitting down in a chair. His knees were weak from sitting on them but also from pure embarrassment.

'That doesn't explain why my brother's hovering around the corner,' Sherlock snarled. 'What is he now? Your lap dog?'

'I can't be concerned for my little brother's safety?' Mycroft asked, still hiding around the corner.

'Myc, you might as well come in,' Greg sighed. Mycroft slowly emerged, his umbrella stabbing into the carpet as he slightly leaned against it.

'So, I see you two have settled your differences then?' he asked casually.

'Yes, quite,' Sherlock said before going into a coughing fit. He doubled over, shaking with the effort of trying to breathe normally despite his painful coughing.

'What the hell happened to you?' Greg asked, stepping away in case Sherlock was contagious. John didn't even flinch. He moved right in front of Sherlock, probably getting coughed on in the process, and helped Sherlock get back to a normal breathing pattern.

'Stood outside in the rain for too long,' John finally answered when Sherlock calmed down. 'Got soaked to the bone and caught a pretty severe cold.'

Mycroft raised an eyebrow at that. 'You were outside in the rain? For hours, I see. Why didn't you return back here? Oh. Oh no. Brother, tell me you didn't.'

'I didn't,' Sherlock mumbled. It lost the impact and sarcasm he had intended it to as he coughed again.

He wrapped his arms around John. 'This is bloody Anderson's fault.'

'Don't change the subject!' Mycroft growled. 'Did you or did you not relapse last night?'

'Relapse? Oh dear,' Greg sighed. 'I should go. As an officer of the Yard I would hate to turn you in for illicit drug use. I'll be downstairs if you need me.' He trotted down the stairs, Mrs Hudson spotting him and offering him a nice cuppa. Greg smiled and accepted, but he would probably need something a lot stronger than tea later. Plus, if Sherlock had relapsed he didn't want to be around him should he cause Greg's cravings to start up again. No. Never again.

'Maybe I did,' Sherlock huffed. 'But I'm not apologising for it. I needed a fix.'

'Because of Anderson?' John asked in a quiet voice. He moved to sit in Sherlock's lap and held him close. Mycroft sighed and stalked off to Sherlock's chair, plopping down in it with a huff.

'Don't give Anderson all the credit. He was simply my last straw.' Sherlock snuggled against John. 'I knew I was going to relapse at some point. I knew not long after I woke up. I tried to fight it but it was becoming harder and harder by the day. I wasn't about to burden you by talking to you about it, and I couldn't go to Mycroft–' he trailed off with a sigh.

'Why?' Mycroft asked sharply, looking up at them. 'Why couldn't you ask me for help? I would have helped you. I would have dropped everything for you. You're my little brother, Sherlock. I would do anything for you. You know that. So why didn't you ask me for help?'

'Because I heard about the problems I was already causing you,' Sherlock gulped loudly. 'I didn't want to risk putting you under further stress.'

He gazed at his brother sadly. 'And my coma dream made me resent you.'

'I've got the binge eating under control,' Mycroft sighed. 'Gregory has me on a very strict diet and exercise regimen. And mother told me a bit about your dream, but not much. What did I do, or not do, to cause you to resent me so?'

Sherlock shifted awkwardly beneath John and shivered. 'You didn't help me. You let me hurt John. You broke the promise you made.'

John clutched Sherlock tightly, resting his head beneath Sherlock's chin. He felt like a small child, clutching to his mother while she tried not to start another row with his father. John rubbed his stubble against Sherlock's neck, grinning when he felt his pulse quicken and his cock give a lurch.

'What promise did I break?' Mycroft asked. 'And you hurt John? How?'

'You promised that if I became a danger to my family you would remove me from the picture,' Sherlock said, wiggling a little to show John his affections were appreciated. 'I had dementia, I was depressed, and I became an alcoholic. And still you did not remove me. And yes, I hurt John. I pushed him down the stairs and watched as he lay there bloody and broken.'

He hugged the real John tighter and whispered a 'love you' down his ear. John hummed and scratched his whiskers against Sherlock again, silently telling him the feeling was mutual.

'Oh,' Mycroft frowned. He looked down at the carpet and sighed. 'I must have been the manifestation of how you see me. I would never leave you with your family if you suspected you were a danger to them. I am just sorry that you see me as a man who would ignore you in a time of crisis. I shall fix that.'

Sherlock smiled softly at his brother. 'You weren't all bad in there.' He tapped his head. 'Just a little softer than usual. Wouldn't stand up to my husband. And you were really... huggy.'

'Huggy?' Mycroft scoffed, raising an eyebrow. 'Dear Lord, what went on in that dream? Were...' He shifted forward in his chair. 'Were Gregory and I still together?'

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Of course Mycroft would completely miss the fact he'd said husband and would be more concerned about his own relationship in the dream.

'Yes. You were together. You got married. You had a son too.' He swallowed and closed his eyes. 'Little Mark.'

'Married with a child,' Mycroft mused, sitting back in the chair and stroking his chin thoughtfully. 'Perhaps, one day.' He smiled softly at the idea. John hugged Sherlock tighter, knowing he was slipping back to his dream family. John was losing him to the dream again. John didn't want to lose Sherlock to the dream. He shifted over Sherlock, rubbing against him and scratching him with his scruff. His actions said, 'Focus on me. I'm right here. Stay here. Stay with me.'

Sherlock whimpered loudly. 'It's so hard.'

The dream world flickered in front of him, blinding him. 'I'm sorry, Princess. I'm sorry, Benny. I didn't mean to.' He shook violently where he sat.

Mycroft looked up at that. _Who were Princess and Benny? Sherlock had mentioned he had a family. Were they his children? Wait... He had said husband earlier. Were he and John married with children? Oh. No wonder he hadn't wanted to wake up._

'Sherlock. Sherlock, love it's alright,' John said, pulling at Sherlock's face so he was looking at him. 'Look at me. I'm not bloody and broken on the floor. I am alive and well, sitting on your lap in our kitchen. It's alright, love. It's ok.'

Sherlock forced himself to open up his eyes. 'I know.' His lips shook and jutted out. 'I just really miss them.'

'I know, love,' John said softly. 'And I wish I could help but I have no idea what you're going through. I'll probably never understand but I'll help you through this as best I can.' He placed a tender, loving kiss to Sherlock's pouting lips.

Sherlock hummed gently. 'I love you,' he whispered again, a little louder that time.

'I love you too,' John grinned.

'And that is my cue to leave,' Mycroft said, standing up and buttoning his waistcoat. 'Sherlock, I am happy you are alive and safe. John, take care of him. Good day.'

He walked downstairs and pulled Gregory away from Mrs Hudson. She had given him sweets, a sure way to win over his company no matter how much he wanted to leave. He shoved Gregory into his car and climbed in behind him, his driver pulling away quickly. Mycroft turned to look at Gregory. He still had some biscuit crumbs on the side of his mouth. Mycroft grinned as he pulled Gregory close, kissing him thoroughly while also licking the crumbs from his mouth. Mmm. Delicious.

'Something I said?' Sherlock giggled, kissing John harder now. Back to business.

'Whatever it was, thank you,' John hummed, sliding back down to the floor. 'Shall we pick up where we left off?'

'Let's,' Sherlock purred in agreement, spreading his legs wide. John pulled Sherlock's trousers down to the floor and moved between his lover's legs. He grasped his cock, pumping it a few times before sucking on the head. He sucked it slowly into his mouth, making sure to rub his scruff against Sherlock's thighs. Sherlock wanted whisker burns? John would damn well give him whisker burns.

'Oh god,' Sherlock panted, eyes rolling in his skull. 'Feels amazing.' He shifted so his thigh was rubbing more of John's stubble. John hummed around Sherlock's cock, sucking more of him down until he hit the back of his throat. John hummed again as he swallowed Sherlock down slowly. He could feel him twitching and throbbing in his throat. It was such a glorious feeling that he could reduce Sherlock to such a state. He made sure to press his cheek against Sherlock's thigh roughly, scratching him with his stubble. Sherlock wanted to hold on but he was already slipping. The rough scratching sensation on his thigh and the heavy pressure on his cock was proving to be a little too much for him. He shoved himself deeper into John's mouth.

'Not long now,' he said, voice husky.

John growled around Sherlock's cock, swallowing roughly before rising and sucking on the head. He bobbed furiously, sucking Sherlock tightly while making sure to scratch him just as rhythmically. He snaked a hand down to Sherlock's sac, noting how tightly it was drawn against his body. John growled again and pulled, letting it snap against Sherlock as he swallowed him whole once again. Sherlock arched against the chair he was slowly sliding down on and cried John's name. He felt his cum jet out and slide down John's throat. It was a beautiful moment that warmed him to the core. He was happy as his mind was briefly wiped of its worries and John was smiling up at him. John swallowed all Sherlock gave him, smiling gleefully as he released Sherlock's cock. He hummed and rubbed his cheek against Sherlock's thigh, scratching him just a bit more.

'Enjoy those whisker burns,' he said huskily. 'Lord knows I'll enjoy seeing them on you.'

'As I'll enjoy having them,' Sherlock grinned. 'So you'll keep the rough look then?' he asked.

'I'll start growing it out to tease you,' John grinned, moving to sit in Sherlock's lap again. 'I won't keep it all the time, then it wouldn't be a surprise. So when I do grow it out you'll be quivering in anticipation, waiting for me to go down on you again and rough you up.'

'You utter tease,' Sherlock tsked. 'Well, if we are going to play that game than I shall grow some stubble too.'

'Oh? I think I'd like you with some stubble,' John purred. 'I can see you now, and you look sexy as hell.' John slowly rocked against Sherlock, letting him know of his current state.

'John,' Sherlock moaned. 'Can I have some soup now? You said that I need more liquids in my body, not out.'

'Yes. Yes, of course,' John hummed. He stood and pulled Sherlock's trousers back up gently. He moved over to the stove and tested the temperature of the soup. Perfect. Not too hot, not too cold, ready to be eaten at a moment's notice.

He grabbed two bowls and poured a liberal amount into the first one, passing it and a spoon over to Sherlock. He put a less significant amount in his own bowl and sat down across from Sherlock, bumping his knee affectionately.

Sherlock shook his head. 'I don't think I'll be able to keep this much down. Besides, you need to put on some weight. Where's that poochy belly that I love?' He frowned. 'Here, we'll swap bowls. Makes sense.' He switched the bowls before John could even protest. John frowned. He didn't want to gain weight. He was finally comfortable with his body and he didn't want to change it. A thought entered his mind and he smirked, the bad mood disappearing.

'I'm not sure I'll be able to finish all this,' he said. 'After all, I just had a rather delicious and quite filling meal.'

Sherlock scowled. 'Eat, John. We can only afford one ill and malnourished person in this flat.'

'I'm not malnourished,' John pouted. He stirred his soup for a while, not really wanting to eat it. He wasn't malnourished. He was finally at a healthy weight. He should probably start going to a gym or something to get some muscle mass back. But he wasn't malnourished. He wasn't.

'Have you looked in a mirror lately?' Sherlock questioned his lover. 'Your ribs are starting to show.'

'No they aren't,' John protested. 'I'm not malnourished. I'm finally happy with my weight. I'm fine.'

'Ok. You're fine?' Sherlock held the bowl of soup in one hand and used the other to stroke down John's side. He could feel John's ribs under his fingertips. 'What are these then?'

'Ticklish,' John shot back, moving away. 'Just stop, ok? I'm fine. I am.'

'No, you're not.' Sherlock's frown deepened. 'Now eat.'

'Yes, I am,' John pouted. He stared down at his bowl, suddenly not hungry. But he knew he should eat. He should. But he didn't want to. He slowly dipped his spoon in the soup, stirring it before pulling back up with a spoonful of soup. He closed his eyes and put the spoon in his mouth, the warm soup sliding down his throat. John grimaced, not from the temperature but from the soup itself.

Sherlock ate his soup carefully, glaring at John all the while. He wasn't particularly hungry but he knew if he didn't eat, neither would John. John ate his soup slowly, closing his eyes every time he brought his spoon to his lips. He'd never considered that he looked malnourished. He was too worried about Sherlock to be concerned about himself. He just assumed it was stress. But now that Sherlock had been awake for two months he wasn't so sure anymore. Now, it was starting to look like an eating disorder.

Sherlock slurped the last bit of his soup. He eyed John and shook his head. 'I did this to you,' he noted out loud.

'It's not your fault,' John mumbled, pushing his soup away. 'You were asleep. I did this to myself. It's not your fault.'

'I'm going to help you,' Sherlock assured John. 'I'll help feed you back up to health.'

'I don't need feeding up,' John pouted.

Sherlock growled under his breath. 'Yes you do. Don't argue with me.'

John sighed in defeat. He knew it was fruitless to argue with Sherlock now. He rested his head in his hands, closing his eyes and grimacing as the smell of the soup permeated his senses.

'Hey.' Sherlock shoved his empty bowl to one side. 'Come here.' John stood up slowly and moved over to Sherlock's side.

Sherlock tugged John into a firm hug. 'We'll be ok.' He rocked his lover like a baby. 'We'll get through this, together.' John moved into Sherlock's lap and held onto him tightly.

'Shall we retire to the bedroom and cuddle?' Sherlock questioned gently. John nodded gently, holding Sherlock close.

'You're going to have to carry me there or at least help me.' Sherlock nudged John's jaw lightly.

'K,' John mumbled. He stood up and grabbed Sherlock by the hand. He helped him up and led him back to their room. The mug and pills were still on the bedside table.

'Here. Take these,' he said handing Sherlock the pills.

Sherlock took the pills before tugging John down onto the bed. 'Cuddle me.' He pushed his hand up John's top and smiled broadly.

'You have a very erotic definition of cuddling,' John grinned, straddling Sherlock and humming as his cool fingers explored his chest. Sherlock let his fingers run up and down John's body.

'Maybe I don't just want to cuddle.'

'We can cuddle after,' John moaned, arching into Sherlock's touch. 'But after what is the question. What do you want to do? Blow job? Hand job? Kinky sex? Or plain vanilla?'

'You decide,' Sherlock whispered against John's Adam's apple, sucking on it lightly. John wracked his brain, searching for a fantasy he and Sherlock would be able to play out. When he found one he grinned and moaned loudly as Sherlock had sucked a bright red mark on his neck.

'I want to try some light bondage with you,' he said, his voice thick with lust. 'Like when you tied my hands with your scarf. I want to try something like that with you.'

Sherlock smirked and writhed in excitement. 'Yes!' he exclaimed enthusiastically. 'God yes.'

'Oh. Settle down boy,' John smirked. He stood up and moved to Sherlock's wardrobe, pulling out that scarf from their first foray into restraints. He settled back on Sherlock's lap, twisting the scarf around his hands and pulling it taut.

'Now, my dirty boy, how shall I restrain you?' John grinned cheekily. 'Shall I bind your wrists? Or perhaps tie you to the headboard? Ooh. I rather like the sound of that, don't you?'

Sherlock nodded eagerly. 'Yes! Tie me up! Take me!'

'Settle down boy, or I'll fetch the riding crop,' John scolded. His dominant captain side was coming out. God, it felt good to give orders again. 'Take off your shirt, slowly, and sit at the head of the bed.'

Sherlock did as John instructed. He sat at the head of the bed and threw his shirt to the ground.

'Good boy,' John purred. He crawled over to Sherlock, trailing the scarf over his thighs almost absently. 'Now, lay down. Stretch your arms out behind you.'

Sherlock flipped onto his front a little cautiously. He hated the scars on his back even more after his dream. Like the dream his back was sore and agitated. He presumed it was because so many memories attached to them had been unleashed.

Swallowing down his insecurities, he held out his arms for John to tie.

'Did I say lay on your stomach?' John growled. He twisted the scarf up tight and smacked it hard against Sherlock's arse. 'On your back. Now. Hands outstretched behind your head. I'm tying you to the headboard.'

'Sorry,' Sherlock grumbled. 'I'm not with it.' It was true that both his fever and John not eating properly were distracting him to no end. He flipped over, holding his hands above his head.

'Apology accepted,' John said. 'Clear your mind. I can see your mind whirring behind those bright eyes. Focus on this.'

John grasped Sherlock's left wrist tight, knotting one end of the scarf around it. He twisted the other end around two of the bars in the headboard before tying what was left around Sherlock's other wrist. He tested the scarf's strength and the secureness of the knots. Deeming them fit, he straddled Sherlock's thighs, sitting on his hips and rocking slowly.

'Feel good dirty boy?' he purred, pressing back against Sherlock's hardening cock.

'I feel fantastic,' Sherlock gasped, rocking up in response and releasing a few delicious moans.

'Mmm. Good,' John hummed. He continued to rock against Sherlock as he began slowly stripping off his clothing. He let Sherlock's hoodie slide down his arms, pooling at his waist before he pulled off the sleeves and dropped it to the floor. He slid his hands under his t-shirt, teasing his own nipples and moaning obscenely before wrenching it off and tossing it across the room. He finally fiddled with the button of his jeans, his hand delving inside his pants and cupping his hardening cock. John moaned at the contact, laughing out loud when he saw Sherlock's expression. He looked almost angry, but his eyes were full of maddening lust. He was absolutely debauched and dishevelled. John liked it. He liked it a lot.

'Oh you dirty, lustful boy,' he grinned. 'You want to touch me so bad. Want to caress me, mark me, claim me. It's pure torture only being able to watch, isn't it?'

Sherlock growled and lifted his legs into the air, wiggling his arse. 'I hate being the sub,' he complained for the second time that day. 'You better treat me right or I swear I'll get out of these restraints before you can blink,' he threatened.

'My, my. We are touchy today, aren't we?' John smirked. He snaked a hand into Sherlock's pants and gave him a tight squeeze. 'Don't worry. I'll treat you right. I'll fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk straight or sit down properly for days.'

'You'd be touchy too if you had a temperature of one hundred and four,' Sherlock grit out but it soon turned into a groan as he bucked into John's hand.

'I'm sure I would, which is why I would try to calm down and listen to my dom,' John commented. He groped Sherlock harder, pumping his cock until it was hard and throbbing.

'Now lay there for a minute while I take of my jeans.' John hopped off the bed and undid the button and fly of his jeans, pulling them down slowly before realising he was still wearing his shoes. Well crap. There went the elegance of his moment. He sat on the floor and wrestled off his left shoe, panting for a moment before doing the same with the right. He then yanked his jeans off as well as his pants and socks before standing back up, flushed deep red from exertion and embarrassment.

Sherlock chuckled. 'Shame. I could have saved you from such embarrassment. I've never seen you so red in the face from such a small task. Somebody needs to start chasing criminals.'

He rubbed his legs together tighter, his erection throbbing painfully. 'Now come and worship me,' he whined.

'Don't laugh at me,' John pouted. He moved over to the other side of the bed, grabbing the lube from the drawer before sitting back on the bed. He removed Sherlock's trousers, tossing them to the floor. He spread Sherlock's legs wide, bending his knees slightly with his feet resting on the bed.

'Stay like that when I prep you,' John instructed, spreading lube onto his fingers. 'I'll shift your position once I've taken you.' He pushed a finger against Sherlock's hole, entering him briefly before pulling back out.

'Pick a safe word,' John said suddenly, his eyes soft but sullen. 'Not that we'll need one, but just in case. I don't want to hurt you. Especially since you're sick.'

Sherlock moaned and chewed his lower lip in thought. 'We've never needed one before.' He shrugged. 'I'll just tell you to stop but it's not as if I'll want you to.'

'I know we've never needed one, but it's been a while. Plus, you're sick. I'm not taking any chances. Just choose a bloody word please,' John sighed.

'Fine.' Sherlock blew air out his mouth. 'Anderson.' He pulled a face. 'If I'm in any pain or discomfort then I'll shout Anderson.'

'Thank you,' John sighed. He offered Sherlock a small smile before slipping back into the game. He pushed a finger against Sherlock, pushing past the first ring of muscle with ease. He stayed there for a moment, twisting his finger and curling it slightly to make sure Sherlock was stretched and comfortable. Then, he pushed it in all the way and just held still.

Sherlock's world froze and he arched upwards. 'Hmm,' he hummed and wriggled down on John's finger. John grinned and added a second finger. He wasn't nearly as hesitant that time. He pumped them quickly, scissoring them to stretch Sherlock. A range of wolf like sounds escaped the detective's throat as he writhed against the headboard he was tied to.

'Feeling good my dirty boy?' John grinned cheekily as he added a third finger.

Flushed in the face and panting, Sherlock nodded. 'So good,' he ground out.

'Think you're ready for me now?' John asked, curling his fingers and stimulating his lover's prostate.

'I'm always ready,' Sherlock tried to purr but it came out as a high pitched squeak as John hit his prostate with accurate precision with his fingertips. John laughed and prodded Sherlock's prostate again, turning him into a writhing ball of lust. He removed his fingers sharply, slicking himself before nudging his head against Sherlock's entrance.

'I'm going to change your position now,' he purred. He grabbed Sherlock's left leg and wrapped it around his waist, his right John propped over his own shoulder. Sherlock was deliciously open for him and John moaned at the sight.

'I'm giving you some control over this part,' he explained as he pushed in slightly. 'Squeeze your leg around my waist and I'll go faster. Release it and I'll go slower. Understood?'

Sherlock nodded breathlessly, unable to say anything. The only sounds coming from his mouth were incoherent ramblings of a lusting mad man. He squeezed his leg around John's waist almost painfully tight and wiggled his arse around John's throbbing member. John grinned widely and thrust into his lover, grasping his hips tightly as he pounded into him relentlessly. God damn, seeing Sherlock tied up and completely at his mercy turned John on like nothing else. They'd definitely be revisiting the bondage subject later on.

Sherlock grinned and closed his eyes, letting John take him on a roller coaster ride. He tried using his leg to put different pressure on John's waist and was amazed at how much control he had over John despite the fact he was tied up. Lighter pressure meant slower paced thrusts and heavy pressure sent his flatmate into a rabid rage of deep and fast thrusting.

John felt himself nearing the edge nearly three times, but each time Sherlock would ease up on the pressure and allow John to slow down and gather his wits. They truly did know each other. John leaned down and captured Sherlock's lips in a slow, tender kiss, matching the speed of his thrusts.

'I love you,' he moaned against his lover.

Sherlock hummed and replied, sounding drunk. 'Love you too.' He was drunk. John was his alcohol – oh shit.

He scrunched his eyes shut as a thousand other thoughts spiraled off that one tiny thought. Mainly of the dream and the alcoholism he had experienced there. Damn. Damn. Damn.

He squeezed John tighter, egging him on, hoping that he'd be able to distract him.

John thrust faster. He could tell something wasn't right. He leaned up and gripped the headboard, pounding into Sherlock hard and fast.

'Gonna cum,' he grit out, gasping for breath.

Sherlock put more pressure on John's waist. He was fairly sure he was going to leave bruises but for now he found that he couldn't bring himself to care. He braced himself, ready for John's release and hoping his own would follow soon after. John attempted to thrust faster, his hips stuttering slightly. He managed to find Sherlock's prostate just as he came, his cum jetting out and hitting it. John gasped and nearly collapsed, his limbs shaking from the force of his orgasm.

Despite Sherlock's inner turmoil that final hit of his prostate sent him tumbling over the edge and into cumming. He let out a scream. The scream was filled with lust, anger, frustration, and love for the dear man that was panting above him.

His feverish body slumped tiredly where it lay and his grip on John loosened. 'Mmmm,' he groaned, his body beginning to shake for a numerous amount of reasons.

John couldn't speak, could barely breathe. But somehow he was still able to release one of Sherlock's wrists from the scarf. He collapsed beside him, his limbs weak, and tried to catch his breath. His mind registered that Sherlock was shaking. Why? Pleasure? Illness? Detox?

Sherlock thumbled with the other knot and released himself completely. He sighed heavily and curled into a small shaking ball beside John. John ran his fingers through Sherlock's hair, scratching his scalp a little too.

'Hey,' John whispered. 'You ok?'

Sherlock hummed softly in reply. He felt unbearably hot and sticky with sweat. His body was still riding out the powerful orgasm he had just received. His mind could barely focus on the real world; it was almost constantly trapped in the dream world. And now his body was begging for another fix.

He was bloody fantastic.

'Hey.' John scootched closer and wiped some sweat from Sherlock's forehead. 'It will be ok. We'll work through this. When I get some strength back I'll start us a bath. Does that sound good? We can cool you down a bit, maybe warm you up. Just a nice, relaxing bath. Ok?'

Sherlock hummed again. 'Mmm k.' He leant into John's touch and smiled a little. 'Gonna sleep now though.'

'Ok. Me too,' John smiled softly. He placed a gentle kiss to Sherlock's clammy forehead. He turned over and pulled Sherlock close so they could spoon. John had always been the big spoon in his previous relationships, but with Sherlock he thoroughly enjoyed being the little spoon. He clasped Sherlock's hand and pulled it around him, holding his hand next to his heart. If Sherlock woke and was worried John was the broken dream version, he'd be able to feel his heartbeat and hopefully calm down.

John hummed and settled against Sherlock, twining their legs together. 'Love you,' he mumbled as he began to drift off.

* * *

This chapter just makes me really happy and I don't really know why. I think it's the image of John wearing Sherlock's purple hoodie that just makes me really happy. Because he would look so adorable in it.

So at this point we're almost halfway through the story. Holy crap, right? Seventeen more weeks of this and then it will be completed. That is if I only update twice a week. At some point I may start updating this MWF, but until I get a handle of my class schedule that won't happen for another week or two. Then it would only take me eight weeks to complete this if I start next week. I was a math major (now a journalism major), so of course I did the math for this.

Happy Red Pants Monday to everyone and we'll see you Friday!

TSA + IB


	31. Explorations

Happy Friday everyone! So I just found out that next Friday my campus will be playing _Star Trek Into Darkness_, so I'm going home this weekend to get my _Star Trek_ outfit ;) Basically it's just a blue shirt, black skinny jeans, and tall, black boots. Though I do have science badge earrings now ;)

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock

Me: John

_Warnings for this chapter: vomit, hand jobs in the bath, playing with bollocks (balls), blow jobs, sleepy sex, and some angst near the end where Sherlock is concerned._

* * *

Chapter 31 – Explorations

_'Sher!'_

_'Dad!'_

_'Daddy, please!'_

_'How could you be so idiotic, little brother?!'  
_  
The voices screamed inside of his mind painfully loudly.

But then came one:

_'Sherlock, love, why?'  
_  
It was John's voice. It sounded broken and hurt.

Sherlock awoke with an almighty cry. He could tell instantly that his body was reaching a dangerously high temperature and he felt sick to his stomach. John stuttered awake, breaking out of his peaceful yet hot slumber. Sherlock was sitting up and shaking, and he looked absolutely pale. Uh oh. John grabbed the bucket from the floor and passed it to Sherlock. Just in the nick of time too.

Sherlock found himself spilling the soup he'd had earlier all back up. Not a single drop was left in his belly. When he was done he groaned and flopped back onto the bed. His skin was sizzling hot still and he was panting harshly. John took the bucket and placed it on the floor. He'd wash it later. Right now he needed to cool Sherlock down, and fast.

'Hey, will you be ok for a few minutes?' he asked gently. 'I'm gonna start a bath for you. I'll come get you when it's ready.' Sherlock nodded, reclosing his eyes. He whimpered as he heard John leave him and the shaking intensified.

John quickly padded off to the bathroom, plugging the drain and turning on the water. He didn't want it to be ice cold, but it shouldn't be scalding hot either. He settled on warm, but leaving enough room for some extra cold water to be added if needed. He padded back to the bedroom when the tub was full, prodding Sherlock gently.

'Ok love. The tub's ready. Do you want me to carry you?' Sherlock whined in reply and gave a small nod. It was all he was able to manage.

'Ok, love,' John said softly. He slid his arms under Sherlock's shoulders and knees, drawing him close before picking him up gently. He carried him out to the bathroom and gingerly placed him in the tub. He wiped a wet hand over Sherlock's sweaty forehead, cleaning and comforting him.

Sherlock grimaced and whimpered again, leaning into John's touch. 'I feel even shittier than before,' he grumbled.

'You don't look too good either,' John commented. 'And you're burning up. If I gave you some more cold meds do you think you'd be able to keep them down?' Sherlock screwed up his face and shook his head, clutching at his belly.

'Ok. Ok. Shh,' John said softly, running a hand down Sherlock's hair. That gave him an idea. 'How about I wash your hair? You like it when I do that.' Sherlock nodded, still pulling the face of revulsion as his stomach twisted itself into knots.

'Shhh, it's going to be ok,' John said softly. He pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock's forehead, noting how warm it was. He leaned back and grabbed his shaving mug. It was clean, so he could use it to wet Sherlock's hair down. He didn't want to chance lowering him under the water.

He filled the mug with the bath water, slowly running it down Sherlock's forehead. He repeated the motion, starting at one of his temples that time. As he wet Sherlock's hair he massaged his scalp gently, hoping to get him to relax. Sherlock hummed and relaxed a little as John's fingers pressed against his skull, moving in small and methodical circles.

'Too hot,' Sherlock mumbled. 'Feels like I'm on fire.'

'Ok,' John said softly. He turned the cold water faucet on, letting it fill the tub a little more. John grabbed a washcloth and held it under the cold stream of water. He pressed it against Sherlock's forehead for a little while as the tub water went from warm to cold.

'Is that a little better?' he asked, still massaging Sherlock's scalp gently. Sherlock shivered and made a small umpf sound. He still felt unbearably hot but it was a little more tolerable than before. He tilted his head back, allowing John better access. John hummed and moved his fingers along Sherlock's scalp. With his head tilted back the washcloth would be able to sit on his head without slipping off. John grabbed Sherlock's shampoo and squeezed a liberal amount on his damp curls. He slowly began working it through his hair, massaging his head gently yet firmly. He felt Sherlock's shoulders relax as he continued, moving to rub at the base of his skull.

'Oh god,' Sherlock moaned loudly. 'Ooooh.' His whole body vibrated with want. 'Get in this bloody bath right now or so help me.' He heard a small chuckle by his ear. 'Don't laugh at me,' he pouted. 'Just get in.' John chuckled again but stood and moved to straddle Sherlock in the bath. His hands continued massaging his head, working the shampoo through.

Sherlock wiggled against John, feeling himself and John hardening at the contact. Now it was his turn to laugh. 'Ah, good god.' He chuckled deeply. 'If I wasn't so sick I would take you now.'

'I'd rather not sit in water that had our cum mixed in it,' John commented. He scratched Sherlock's scalp experimentally.

'Who said anything about sitting?' he asked cheekily. Sherlock groaned and bucked upwards in response to John scratching his scalp.

Oh. Sherlock liked that. John massaged him gently for a little while, noting how the shampoo was beginning to lather. He'd need to rinse Sherlock's hair out soon. He scratched Sherlock's scalp again.

'Ok, how about this? I would rather not get off in the bath and then be in water that has our cum mixed in it. I would much rather take you back to bed and suck you off.' Sherlock hummed his approval but snaked a hand under the water to give John a brief and teasing stroke.

'Let me at least tease you into nearly cumming.' He smirked and his hips jerked upwards, slicing through the water.

'Oh fuck,' John moaned. His hands clenched Sherlock's head tightly as he buried his face in Sherlock's neck. His hips canted toward Sherlock's fist, moving his cock through it easily. The water had made Sherlock's hand slippery, John sliding through it with ease.

'Oh fuck,' he moaned again, moving faster and sloshing the water as he moved.

Sherlock chuckled and squeezed John tightly. 'Returning the favour any time soon?' he questioned, practically begging for John to touch him.

John moaned and slid his hands from Sherlock's hair and down his torso, trailing shampoo in their wake. His hands dipped below the water, the shampoo dispersing in a milky froth. One hand stopped at Sherlock's hip, the other venturing further to grasp his cock and tug it playfully.

Sherlock bucked up with a startled gasp. He moved a finger to massage John's sack. 'You're close,' he stated, smirking.

'Oh fuck,' John groaned, shaking from Sherlock's touches. 'Want to... But not here. Fuck!'

'Oh, John,' Sherlock pleaded. 'Pretty please.' He massaged John rougher. 'I'm sick. Allow me this.'

John leaned his forehead on Sherlock's, the cold washcloth still plastered there. The cold was a shocking relief to how hot his body suddenly felt. He rocked against Sherlock, letting go of his hip to grasp his shoulder.

'Ok. Ok, yes. Fuck! Won't take long. Oh god.' John moaned loudly and pushed against Sherlock's hand. 'Oh. Oh god! Oh shit! Gonna–' That was the only warning he was able to give before he came. He gripped Sherlock's shoulder tight, leaving red crescent moons on his skin. He whimpered and moaned as he came, rocking against Sherlock's hand all the while.

Sherlock laughed joyfully. 'Thank you, dear,' he whispered, kissing John delicately on the crest of his head.

He then rubbed himself against John urgently. 'Care to help me out?' He tugged John closer onto his lap. 'Pretty please.'

'Want to... to suck you,' John gasped out. 'Which... which would you... prefer? Hand? Or mouth?'

'Whichever is easiest for you.' Sherlock purred and smiled to himself. 'Are you ok?' he asked. 'You sound a little flustered.'

'Just... never cum like that before,' John panted. 'Never had anyone play and massage my bollocks before. It was... I don't even know. But I loved it.'

Sherlock grinned and picked up his massaging again. 'You mean like this?' he whispered. 'Yes, it is rather erotic.'

'Oh god!' John moaned, his head falling to Sherlock's shoulder. He whimpered at the touch, wanting it but not. 'Please. Please. Don't. Sensitive.'

'But you clearly want it,' Sherlock pointed out, persisting in his massaging. 'I can feel you becoming aroused again.'

'That – ugh – is a terrible excuse,' John protested. 'That's a – oh god – a rapist's excuse. Just because my body is – fuck! – reacting to your touch doesn't mean I want it.'

Sherlock froze and swallowed down hard. John was accusing him of trying to rape him. Dream John had done the same. Except this time it was worse. This was real and he was sober.

He let go of John and pushed him lightly away, refusing to look at him.

'I didn't say stop,' John said. He frowned when he saw Sherlock's grave expression. 'Hey. What did I say? Was it the rape thing? I didn't mean for that to sound like you were raping me. I was just... talking without thinking. I'm sorry. Hey. Will you at least look at me?'

'No,' Sherlock grit out. 'No, I will not look at you.' His jaw locked and his nostrils flared. 'I want to get out. Now.'

'I still need to rinse your hair,' John stated. 'It'll be easier if I just turn on the shower.' John unplugged the drain and turned the shower on, changing the water's temperature back to warm. He took the washcloth off Sherlock's forehead and hung it on the side of the tub.

'Can you stand?' he asked gently. 'Or would you like some help?'

Sherlock glared at John wordlessly. He wasn't prepared to do anything. He was going to sit there and make things as difficult for John as possible.

'Sherlock? What's going on? Is this really about the rape thing? Because I didn't mean for that to come out like I was accusing you of rape. I already apologised. And, if it makes you feel better, I nearly raped you when you woke up. Remember that? Me trying to get off with your sleeping form? How was that not rape? I'm just glad you didn't press charges. Not that you would–'

Sherlock softened a little. 'I didn't particularly mind. In fact I was rather touched that even with my atrophied muscles you wanted me in that way. It's just – you reminded me of something from my dream just now.'

'I... I did?' John asked, raising an eyebrow. The tub had long since drained by now and the shower water was pelting down on John's head, plastering his hair down. 'Do I want to know what memory I triggered?'

'I nearly raped you,' Sherlock whispered in shame. 'I violated your body – god, I–' His lips trembled as he fought back tears.

'Oh. Oh baby.' John leant forward and wrapped Sherlock in a tender hug. 'It's ok, love. I forgive you. Both from the dream and just now. It's alright. I forgive you.'

'Funny thing is, all I ever wanted both times was to please you.' Some tears flickered down Sherlock's cheeks. 'You seemed to be enjoying it this time at least. I just–'

'Shhh, love. Shhh,' John soothed him, rubbing small circles onto his back. 'It's ok now. It will be ok.'

'How is this ok?' Sherlock sobbed. 'I used you. I needed a distraction and I used you!'

'People do it all the time,' John said softly. He held Sherlock close, the warm water cascading down around them. 'Lord knows I've used people as distractions before. One night stands, a quick drunken snog in a pub. I once even used you blowing something up in the flat as an excuse to get out of a bad date.'

'But you're not just some date! I love you. You're my soul mate. You're my everything. And what? I played with your bloody bollocks because I wanted a distraction and because the sounds you were making were utterly delicious.' He shook his head. 'I hate myself.'

'If you remember, I never told you to stop and I was thoroughly enjoying you playing with my bollocks,' John stated.

Sherlock cocked his head and looked at John sceptically. 'So you wouldn't mind me doing it again... now?' he asked in a small voice.

'By all means,' John grinned. He shifted in Sherlock's lap, spreading his legs so Sherlock would have easy access. 'Be my guest.'

Sherlock reached forward nervously and began to lightly tousle John's bollocks about with his fingertips. He leant forwards and pressed a needy kiss on his lover's lips and with John's approval massaged harder. John hummed and moaned into the kiss, leaning back and rocking on Sherlock's fingers. Jesus fucking Christ that felt good. He held Sherlock's face in his hands and kissed him deeply.

'Other hand too,' he gasped out when Sherlock pulled one of his bollocks gently. 'On my cock. Please. Touch me.'

Sherlock was only too glad to comply. He moved one hand to wrap around John's prick and made sure to massage his lover's bollocks with the other as harshly as possible. John whimpered and whined into Sherlock's mouth. He was close already.

'C-close,' he moaned deeply. 'Which you can probably tell.'

'Mmm yes,' Sherlock growled, attacking John's lips, nibbling on them. He increased the pressure on John's cock and was particularly rough with his bollocks, pulling them repeatedly and allowing them to snap back into place.

'Shit, fuck, shit, fuck,' John swore as Sherlock brought him to the edge. 'There. Nearly there. Oh god!' John cried out as Sherlock pulled him over the edge harshly, cumming hard across Sherlock's stomach. His body shook as he came, practically vibrating with pleasure. He collapsed against his love when he finally stopped cumming, gasping for breath against Sherlock's neck.

'I'm gathering you enjoyed that, dear,' Sherlock half chuckled and half moaned. 'I hope your release was quite satisfactory.' He squeezed John's bollocks once more and kissed his neck.

'Fucking brilliant,' John groaned, shuddering at Sherlock's touches. He leaned his head back so Sherlock could reach more of his neck, purring as the kisses peppered his skin.

Sherlock hummed and quirked a sly smile. 'There's plenty more where that came from,' he said, allowing the meaning of his words to be as broad as John liked. He nibbled on John's ear and smoothed a hand through his sandy mop.

'I look forward to all that that entails,' John moaned. He opened his eyes and sighed. 'We should rinse out your hair before the shampoo makes it oily.'

'Yes. Shall we?' Sherlock continued to nibble on the lobe of his lover's ear. 'Then I think I deserve a little reward of my own. Then, sleep.'

'Think you might be able to keep some medicine down now?' John asked, moving Sherlock's head under the spray of warm water. 'I bought pills and liquid medicine. And the liquid kind has stuff in it to help you sleep. So I think maybe, if you can keep it down, the liquid would be your best bet.'

'I'll try,' Sherlock said as he rubbed his belly. 'It'll be a challenge. I still feel like shit.'

'I know, love. I know,' John said softly. 'If your stomach is still upset then you don't have to take anything. I won't make you if you don't feel up to it.' He rinsed the last of the shampoo from Sherlock's hair, running his fingers through it to make sure.

'Ok. I deem you clean. Shall I give you your reward now?' He wiggled his eyebrows seductively and grinned.

Sherlock licked his lips excitedly and flashed John his killer bracketed smile. His eyes changed into a deep black with a few silver remnants flickering on the outside of the blown pupils.

'I await my reward, sir,' he laughed.

'Willingly calling me "sir?"' John asked, smirking. 'I like it.' He turned off the water and stood up on shaky legs. Good lord, those orgasms had really taken it out of him. He exited the tub and towelled himself off before helping Sherlock out and doing the same. He ruffled Sherlock's hair with the towel, making it stick out in odd places. John giggled at the sight.

'Let's get you to bed,' he said, picking Sherlock up gently.

Sherlock pouted and tried to smooth out his ruffled up curls to no avail. 'It's not funny.' He jutted out his lip further. 'My hair's all over the place,' he complained.

'Yes, and you're beautiful darling,' John grinned. He placed a small kiss to Sherlock's temple and began walking back to their room. He placed Sherlock in the middle of the bed and crawled over him. He began kissing Sherlock slowly, deeply, his tongue reaching out to say hello. Sherlock's pout dripped away like ice melting under the hot sun. John's lips were caressing him and he'd never felt so utterly at peace. His eyes fell shut and he allowed John to take full control.

'I'm going to suck you dry,' John growled against Sherlock's lips. 'But, you get to control how long this lasts.' He slid down Sherlock's body until he was between his knees. He pushed them apart and grabbed Sherlock's hand, placing it on his own head.

'The harder you squeeze, the faster I'll move and the harder I'll suck. Possibly even pull on your own bollocks as you seem to enjoy it just as much as I do. The lighter the pressure, the slower I'll go and the gentler I'll be. Got it?'

Sherlock grinned sleepily and began to squeeze gently. Slow. He wanted this to be as slow and drawn out as possible.

'Got it,' he mumbled, his voice tainted by the beckoning of sleep.

'If you fall asleep I'll understand,' John said, slowly licking up Sherlock's shaft. 'If you do, do you want me to stop? Or can I try to bring you to orgasm while you sleep?' He sucked the head of Sherlock's cock into his mouth and swirled his tongue around it slowly.

'Don't you dare stop,' Sherlock growled grumpily, squeezing just a little bit harder. John hummed around his lover's cock and sucked harder, swallowing more of him down and bobbing his head lightly. He moved a hand down to circle around Sherlock's sac teasingly. Sherlock arched upwards and gave a feeble thrust forwards. He hummed in reply, not wanting John to stop. John kept up his pace, swallowing more of Sherlock while rolling one of his bollocks in his fingers experimentally. Sherlock swore in Gallifreyan loudly and shifted so John's tongue could reach more places.

_What the hell kind of language was that?_ John wondered. He didn't dwell on it for long. He pushed it aside, focusing on giving Sherlock the pleasure he so desperately needed. He sucked more of him down, his head hitting the back of his throat. John slid up and back down slowly, his tongue pressing against the vein on the underside of his lover's throbbing cock. He bobbed his head fast, sucking just a bit harder, and began gently massaging Sherlock's bollocks in his palm.

More Gallifreyan profanities surged from Sherlock's plump lips as he was caught between the world of sleep and pleasure. He thrust deeper into his lover's throat. He was surprised that John wasn't gagging against him. He began to chant that he was close in Gallifreyan as he felt John steering him closer and closer to a beautiful and magical release.

John felt Sherlock's bollocks draw up tight. He was close. John grinned slightly and swallowed Sherlock whole, humming around his throbbing cock. He bobbed slightly, allowing Sherlock to slide through his throat, and pulled on his bollocks and let them slap back against him with a snap.

_Cum for me. Cum for me, please.  
_  
Sherlock came with an almighty Gallifreyan war cry before slumping and finally falling into a deep and much needed sleep.

John swallowed all Sherlock gave him and released him with a wet and very obscene pop. Sherlock's sated cock slapped against his belly and appeared to be sleeping as peacefully as the detective himself. John smiled at the sight before pulling the covers up and around them. He settled against Sherlock's side, setting his alarm for six a.m. when he'd have to get up for work. Maybe he'd get a decent night's sleep tonight.

'Goodnight my love,' John yawned as he settled in the sheets. 'I hope you feel better in the morning.' He nestled his head against Sherlock's chest and closed his eyes, falling asleep quickly and deeply for the first time in months.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock became aware of a loud, sharp noise piercing his, for once, dreamless sleep. He groaned as he realised it was John's alarm for work.

'Turn it off,' he mumbled against his sleeping lover's chest.

John groaned and stretched, slapping the snooze button before falling into his stomach and burying his nose in the covers.

'Gimmie a minute,' he mumbled sleepily. 'Gotta go ta work.'

Sherlock sighed. 'I don't want you to go,' he said, sounding a bit more coherent than John. He wrapped a long leg around John and tugged him closer. 'Stay.'

'I know hun, but I can't,' John sighed, waking up a bit more. 'I haven't exactly had the best attendance record the last six months. I need to go or Sarah'll kill me. And I don't want to lose our only steady flow of income.'

The alarm went off again and John slapped the snooze again. He turned around in Sherlock's embrace and kissed him gently but firmly.

'I don't want to go either, but I have to. My shift is at eight and runs until about five. Do you think you can keep yourself occupied until then? Or at least try to stay out of too much trouble?'

'I'll try to be on my very best behaviour.' Sherlock gave John a cheesy grin. 'How much time do you have before you have to go to work?' he asked, subtly moving his morning wood against his lover's warm body.

'Need to be on the tube by seven at least,' John groaned. He clutched Sherlock tight and moved against him, rubbing the first morning wood he'd had in months against his lover's.

'Then we'll make this snappy.' Sherlock tugged John further up so that his lover was practically sat on his face. He latched his lips around John's arousal and chuckled at John's stunned expression.

'Ooooh! Oh fuck!' John groaned, grabbing the headboard for support. He rut slightly into Sherlock's mouth, melting as his tongue did magical things to his cock. Sherlock sucked long and hard before releasing it with a pop. He looked on at John in amusement before taking John's bollocks into his mouth instead. John moaned and shuddered violently. He gripped the headboard tight and tried not to rut against Sherlock's face and tongue like a mad man. Jesus Christ that felt good. So good. So good he wouldn't last very long sort of good. He pushed down slightly, applying more pressure to Sherlock's tongue and whimpered as an intense wave of pleasure rippled through him.

'Close,' he groaned loudly, rocking faster.

Sherlock lapped at John's balls greedily, like a cat drinking cream. He scraped his teeth over their surface and felt them starting to tighten. He drew away before John could cum and stuck John's cock back in his mouth, drawing him in to the very depths of his throat. John whimpered again and thrust into Sherlock's mouth, trying not to choke him. He wasn't sure if he was successful or not because he was too close to care.

'Bollocks, bollocks, bollocks!' he swore. Or was he asking Sherlock to pay attention to those too? He didn't know and he didn't care, just so long as he came down Sherlock's throat. Sherlock raised an eyebrow and moved a hand to cup John's balls. He jostled them playfully and ran his tongue over all of John's sensitive areas.

'Gah! Geez! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!' John whimpered, vibrating in his spot. He was so close, deliciously close. Just a bit more. Just–

'Cumming! Cumming!' John warned as he felt his orgasm rip through him. His entire body shook and more whimpers escaped from his lips as he came pulsing down Sherlock's throat. Sherlock almost gagged but forced himself not to. He swallowed all of the liquid before releasing John's member. His hands still held John's bollocks and he ran his fingers over them gingerly. John whimpered again and made to pull away, falling down beside Sherlock in a shaking heap.

'S-stop,' he shuddered. 'Please. Too sensitive. Fuck!'

Sherlock chuckled. 'Sorry, dear,' he apologised softly, snaking his arms around John's skinny waist.

John gulped down deep breaths but somehow managed to hum when Sherlock embraced him.

'Apparently... my orgasms that... that come about from... from you playing with my... my bollocks really... really take it outta me,' John gasped out.

'So I've noticed.' Sherlock licked John's throat and ran a hand up and down John's ribs. Laughter spluttered from John's lips and he squirmed in Sherlock's arms.

Sherlock ran his fingers down John's ribs faster. 'Gorgeous love of mine.' John laughed harder and tried to wriggle away.

'Oh no you don't,' Sherlock tutted, tugging John into a death grip and tickling him without mercy. 'You're not going anywhere.' John squealed, actually squealed, as peals of laughter burst from his lips. He flailed his limbs and tried to wriggle free, all to no avail.

'Sherlock,' he gasped out, laughing harder. 'Sherlock, I'm gonna piss the bed if you don't stop.'

Sherlock pulled back and his face contorted in disgust. Piss was one of the human bodily fluids that he hated. Blood and semen he could deal with. Piss he could not.

'Please don't.' He scrunched up his nose. John gulped down deep breaths when Sherlock stopped tickling him, his face red from laughing so hard.

'Sorry, sorry,' he said quickly. 'I can't help it. Ever since I was a kid, if my parents or sister would tickle me for too long I'd piss myself. They weren't fans of it either. So, give me a minute to relieve myself and I'll give you some relief before I have to go to work.' He rocked gently against Sherlock's hard-on and grinned.

Sherlock made an abrupt and lust-riddled noise and placed a warm kiss to John's lips. 'Hurry,' he said, his voice gravelly from both lust and the remainders of sleep.

'Be right back,' John promised, kissing Sherlock hungrily. He dashed out of bed and to the loo, relieving himself with a sigh. That had been close. And, going by Sherlock's expression, he probably would have thrown up again if John had pissed the bed. He flushed when he finished and washed his hands before returning to Sherlock. He climbed up his lanky frame and sat on his hips, trapping his cock between his buttocks and rutting against him, grinning like a mad man.

Sherlock clenched his buttocks together, trapping John's prick further. He studied John artfully, taking in the way his chest was moving up and down at a frantic rhythm, his slightly mussed bed hair and his sparkling blue eyes that were being replaced by black. Beautiful. John was beautiful.

Before John had come into Sherlock's life he hadn't had a definition of beauty. His world had been a mixture of blacks and whites and then all of a sudden this man, this complete and utter stranger, came into his life on a whim. Little had he known back then that he would fall in love, or find a concept of beauty.

John was beauty.

He made his world a far more colourful place to live in.

John leant down and kissed Sherlock deeply, rutting against him faster, harder. His prick was hardening again and all he wanted to do was fuck Sherlock into the mattress until they both came screaming. He glanced at the clock. Only 6:15. Excellent.

'I want to fuck you,' he said against Sherlock's full lips. Sherlock pushed back and found much to his surprise that John was beginning to slide in as easy as it was sliding into a hot bath.

'Seems my arse is becoming accustomed to you,' Sherlock smirked.

'As it should,' John groaned, pushing in a little further. 'Fuck. You're always so tight and warm. How the hell is that possible?'

'Still so open from the last time you took me.' Sherlock clenched his arse cheeks harder. 'Now take me again.'

'God yes,' John groaned, pushing in all the way until he was buried to the hilt. He paused for a moment, gathering his breath before he began to move. Slowly at first, just letting his cock slide through his lover's tight heat. Then they both got incredibly impatient and John began pounding Sherlock with earnest, grabbing his thighs and pushing them apart as he fucked him hard and fast and deep. Neither man spoke as their bodies joined together, John's darker skin sliding against Sherlock's ghostly white skin. They grunted and moaned and groaned like teenagers making love for the first time.

'Beautiful, gorgeous, brilliant, mine,' John growled as he pounded into Sherlock mercilessly. Everything was rushed and the time constraint just made the act that much hotter. He trailed a hand to fondle Sherlock's sac playfully, pulling on one and letting it snap back into place.

Sherlock gasped out words of appreciation but they died on the tip of his tongue. He shifted so John was tilted at a different angle and moved a hand to caress his lover's bum. The new angle allowed John easy access to Sherlock's prostate, which he tried to hit as often as possible. He rolled Sherlock's bollocks in his palm, massaging them roughly as he fucked him hard. He felt them draw up tight and John let out a smug laugh.

'Cum for me,' he growled in Sherlock's ear. 'Scream for me. Cum all over us. Cum. Cum. Cum!'

Sherlock's cock gave a twitch and he could feel himself being dragged closer to the cliff edge. John hit his prostate exceptionally hard and as though an avalanche of snow was falling on top of him, forcing him to fall over the mountain face, he went over the edge and came. His cum splattered everywhere, causing quite a mess. He screamed and lay there whimpering. John followed Sherlock over the edge and came with a shout, collapsing against Sherlock's chest with an obscene splat. Jesus. Sherlock really had cum everywhere. And he was shaking and whimpering. Oh god. John didn't hurt him, did he?

'Hey? You ok? Did I hurt you?' John asked in a small voice.

'No,' Sherlock huffed a laugh. 'It's just you've rather taken my strength from me. That was quite a rough fucking you gave me.'

'Oh,' John laughed softly. 'I won't apologise then.' He glanced back to the clock. It was only 6:25. Had that really only taken ten minutes? John shrugged and sat up, stretching.

'I'm going to take a shower before I leave,' he stated. 'But, before I do, I'll clean you up first.' He leaned over Sherlock's body and manoeuvred himself down to his chest. His tongue poked out and began lapping at the cum spattered there. Sherlock giggled as John's tongue explored the flat planes of his chest, lapping up each and every drop of cum.

John made his way from Sherlock's chest to his stomach, devouring every drop of cum in his wake. When he finished he sucked a possessive mark on Sherlock's hip, reclaiming him as his own after so long.

'You taste divine,' John hummed, settling along Sherlock's side.

'Do I?' Sherlock questioned before mashing his lips to John's in a desperate quest to taste himself. John opened his mouth and let Sherlock's tongue delve inside, knowing he would be able to taste himself on his tongue. John moaned and moved so he was laying on top of Sherlock, their tongues twirling as they tasted each other. Sherlock flickered his tongue against John's, tasting his own cum masking John's own distinctive flavour.

John's hands found themselves tangled in Sherlock's hair, pulling them closer as they snogged. Sherlock was everywhere, dominating John's senses. His taste, his smell, the caress of his tongue, the feel of his wild curls on his fingers, his warm flesh on John's. Sherlock dominated John's life now. Everything John did or didn't do was because of Sherlock. He had killed for Sherlock, had put himself in the line of fire many times for Sherlock, and had even skipped out on dates because Sherlock not-so-subtly hinted that he didn't want him to go and wanted him to stay. So John had stayed. Had stopped going out on dates because Sherlock didn't like it. And John didn't like the women either. They were dull in comparison to his brilliant flatmate. And now John had Sherlock right where he wanted him: snuggled in his arms, in their bed, snogging languidly before John had to go to work.

And it was absolutely perfect.

Sherlock lifted his lips from John and sighed happily, a brilliant smile permanently scratched into his features. He never wanted this moment to end except he knew it was going to. John was heading off into the mundane world of work and he would be all alone.

He was dreading that. Alone was always a dangerous thing for him.

'I wish I didn't have to go,' John frowned, resting his head against Sherlock's chest. 'I wish I could just stay here and lie in bed with you all day.'

Sherlock tilted his head back and bit his lip lightly. 'I do too,' he finally said. 'But you need your work almost as much as I need my cases.'

'Yeah. It feels good to help people again, ya know?' John smiled softly against Sherlock's chest. 'I should probably get dressed. You should go back to sleep.'

Sherlock nodded, though he knew that despite the general ickyness that he was feeling and the fact that he'd just been thoroughly made love to by John, he would not get much sleep. With John out there in the world and himself trapped in the flat like a fly in a spider web, he would not be at ease.

'Be careful,' he stated sharply.

'I always am,' John smiled. 'Don't tell Lestrade, but I "purchased" another gun. I keep it with me at work, just in case. My favoured one is still here, locked in my desk where you can get to it if you need it.' He placed a gentle kiss to Sherlock's temple.

'If you can't sleep, think you could try moving my things in here? If I can move in that is.'

'Of course.' Sherlock glanced around the room, his brow pinching. 'Now, where is my cane?'

'Propped up outside the door,' John answered. 'Want me to get it?'

'If you could be a dear, yes.' He smiled despite feeling distinctly on edge about John leaving. John pecked Sherlock lightly on the lips before getting out of bed and grabbing Sherlock's cane.

'I'll be upstairs getting dressed. Holler if you need me.' He passed Sherlock the cane and left the room, going upstairs to his now old room and grabbing his work clothes out of the wardrobe. He got dressed quickly and examined himself in the wardrobe's mirror. Maybe Sherlock had a point about the stubble. He didn't look half bad.

Sherlock's head began to swirl. He hated the fact that if something were to happen to John he'd be too far away to protect him. He felt utterly useless. His stomach was twisting itself into tight knots and this time it wasn't just because he was ill.

John made his way back downstairs, checking to see how Sherlock was doing. He was still sitting up in bed, staring off into space.

'Hey. Sherlock? You ok?' John asked softly.

John's soft voice dragged Sherlock out of his mind palace just enough for him to come up with a lie. 'Thinking about a cold case. Shhh.'

'Oh. Ok. Sorry,' John whispered. He crept toward Sherlock silently and gently kissed the top of his head. 'I'll be back before you know it. Have Lestrade bring you more cases. Keep yourself occupied. I love you.'

Sherlock grunted to show John that he had heard him and then closed his eyes to completely block out the world. John sighed and let Sherlock be. He was in one of his moods and it would do John no good to try to get him out of it. He left the room, grabbed his keys off the table, and strode out of the flat.

It was a gorgeous day. The sun was shining, the birds were out, and a gentle breeze was blowing. Then it was all ruined when John got on the crowded and stuffy tube. He hated taking the tube to work but it was faster and cheaper than a cab. John scowled in his seat and pulled out his mobile to distract himself. Harry had showed him he could download games onto it, so he tapped the solitaire icon and began playing.

As soon as the heavy slam of the door penetrated the thick silence in the flat Sherlock felt his arm begin to itch. The terrible drug cravings had been unleashed within him like a rabid dog that had escaped its cage.

He sat there for exactly half an hour, sweating like a pig because of his fever, fighting off a headache due to his sickening worry for John's safety, and itching and shaking due to the need of another fix.

The itching was stronger now. It was his body's way of saying, 'I've had one taste of the stuff now feed me another.'

* * *

So Sherlock is worried about John being out without him and supposedly without protection, and his cravings are back. Sherlock really never seems to catch a break in this fic, does he? Well, that's all InvisibleBlade's doing seeing as she's the only one who controls Sherlock's thoughts and behaviours. And John is solely mine. We share everyone else.

So, chapter 32 will be posted Monday. Until then my lovelies!

TSA + IB


	32. Issues

Sorry for posting so late. I had a very long day. Class from 9 am to six pm, with breaks to grab coffee and a snack at least. But here I am, sitting comfortably in front of my computer. I am now home. :)

InvisibleBlade: Sherlock

Me: John, Sarah, Mycroft

_Warnings for this chapter: implied cutting, drug use, nicotine withdrawals, overdose, heavy smoking, Sherlock once again in hospital, blow jobs in hospital, and some pretty intense Holmes brother feels._

* * *

Chapter 32 - Issues

John made it to work ten minutes early. Thankfully the tube had been kind to him and the games on his phone kept him pretty occupied. He had walked the last two blocks to clear his mind from the stuffy tube. He didn't want to arrive to work with a scowl on his face. Sarah seemed to appreciate that he not only made it to work on time but also seemed to be in a better mood.

'Hello John,' she smiled warmly. 'You seem to be in better spirits today.'

'I'm feeling in better spirits today,' John smiled back.

'What changed over the weekend?' she asked. 'And why haven't you shaved?'

'I'm not exactly sure I should tell you, but let's just say that things are a lot better at home with Sherlock now. We're talking again.'

'Oh! That's great John,' Sarah smiled. 'How is he?'

'Sick. Caught a cold. And he's a very whiny patient,' John smirked.

'Well, I hope he gets better soon. I'll see you at lunch?'

'Sure,' John grinned, waving her off. He started with the standard morning coffee and paperwork before his first patient arrived.

He couldn't stop worrying about Sherlock though. He had looked so distressed when he left. He hoped he was at least getting some sleep. Maybe he'd made it to the Yard and had gotten some more cold cases. John just hoped Sherlock wouldn't give in to his cravings and go to that Dave person he'd mentioned earlier.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock knew that he should simply ignore his cravings, that he should keep his mind occupied with something other than the need for a fix.

He wasn't prepared to go to the Yard for more cold cases however in fear of bumping into either Anderson or Donovan. And then of course there was facing Lestrade too, seeing as he knew about his relapse. He could only imagine the annoying questions and concern the D.I. would throw at him. Those were questions he didn't want to answer and concern that he didn't want to deal with. So that threw a trip to Scotland Yard out.

But he had to do something and fast! He was bound to do something stupid if he didn't.

Wait. Hadn't John said something about moving his belongings into this room from upstairs?

Deciding that moving John's belongings would give him a much needed distraction, he clambered groggily from his bed, leaning on his cane heavily for support. He made the usually short journey to John's room in double the amount of time it should have taken him. His body was weary and his legs were proving to be little use for him today. When he reached the upstairs room all he could smell was John. It was soft and leathery, and filled with the scent of tea going cold. He smiled and took a deep breath. It was almost enough to ease his worry for his lover. Almost.

However, as he gazed across the room he spotted something small and silver lying forgotten on the floor. His heart contorted in his chest as he realised it was a blade, speckled in red.

_'That's John's blood,'_ a voice dripping with evil said, penetrated his ears sharply. _'And you may as well have been the one to put it there.'_

Sherlock froze and tried to stop his rising panic. How recently had that blade been used?

He didn't wait around for his mind to supply an answer. Instead, he found himself fleeing from the room. He hurried into his room as fast as his legs would allow and, in a fleeting panic, got dressed. He then found himself flagging down a taxi outside. He knew his destination. He didn't care. He needed the image of the bloodied blade out of mind. He would do anything to do that. He glanced up at the sunny sky. There were clouds hovering in the distance. He just hoped it didn't rain again. He was already sick as it was.

**…::-::…**

At ten John began to feel restless. His left hand started to shake and he clenched it tight. He had to switch to using his right hand after another hour. Shit. He hadn't had any cravings since Sherlock came home high. And now that John was away from him and worried about him they were back.

Shit.

Was it lunch yet? John glanced at the clock. Eleven. Another hour until lunch. Shit. John glanced at his desk drawer. He could feel it burning a hole in there. He opened it and sighed, seeing that the box was still there. He'd sneak one at lunch. Only one. But he knew it would turn into five. Maybe he could limit it to three.

Lunch couldn't arrive fast enough. John bolted from his desk, shoving the box inside his pocket and practically running from the surgery.

'John? Are you ok?' Sarah asked, peering out of her office.

'Yeah. Yeah, fine. I'll be right back,' John ushered quickly. He dashed outside and into the afternoon sun, finding a spot away from the surgery. He pulled the box out of his pocket with shaking hands, opening it and sighing when he saw he had plenty left. He pulled a cigarette from the case and stuck it between his lips. He pulled the lighter from the box and tried and failed to light it three times before his hands calmed enough to keep the fire going.

The first drag felt fantastic. It always did. And since he and Sherlock had gotten back together he hadn't had any cravings. But now that Sherlock was home alone and was probably having cravings of his own, John was worried that he would relapse again and so his own cravings had started again.

Sherlock would surely kill him if he found out.

One cigarette turned into three which turned into six. John was disgusted with himself. He stamped out his final cigarette and entered the surgery again. Sarah frowned at him, John avoided eye contact.

'I'm just gonna have lunch in my office,' he mumbled. He entered his office and locked the door, collapsing in his chair and holding his face in his hands. He decided to send Sherlock a text just to see if he was ok.

_Hey Sherlock. Just wanted to see how you were doing. –JW  
_  
Sherlock was holding the needle to his pale flesh when his phone buzzed. He sighed as he realised that it was probably John checking up on him.

He plucked his phone from his jacket pocket and quickly stamped out a reply to John's worry filled text.

_Fine. Though you just woke me. –SH  
_  
Sherlock's stomach twisted with the lies and the guilt he felt over what actions he was taking.

He knew if he told John he had disturbed his much needed sleep John would refrain from texting again. Sherlock would be left in peace to have his high.

Sherlock pocketed the phone and positioned the needle once more.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered to thin air as he injected the drug.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock had been sleeping. Thank god. John sighed in relief and relaxed against his chair. He ran a hand down his face and breathed out harshly. Just four more hours. Four more hours and he could go home and see Sherlock again. He could crawl in bed with him and sleep and they could have sleepy sex when they woke up. And then he could nurse Sherlock back to health and they would be happy and everything would be ok.

Just four more hours.

**…::-::…**

Sherlock had been right earlier about it raining. In fact it seemed even the world was angry at him for relapsing. The sunshine and cool breeze from earlier were now replaced with a harsh wind, the pelting down of rain, and the loud battering of hail on the ground.

Sherlock simply grinned. He was too at peace to care. Though he knew deep down he was only going to get sicker now. He just kept on walking through the London weather.

So that's how he found himself in front of his brother's house. Grinning toothily, sopping wet, sick as a dog, and high as a kite.

Mycroft Holmes was sat at his desk, pouring over British Intelligence secrets when there was a knock at his door.

'I'm busy,' he said, dismissing his aid.

'Um, sir? Your brother's here,' the aid said, still not opening the door.

'My brother is here?' Mycroft asked incredulously.

'Yes sir. And... I think you should go to him. I've put him in the sitting room in front of the fire.'

'Why is he in front of the fire?' Mycroft asked, opening the door and looking at his aid.

'Got caught in the storm. You'll understand why when you see him.'

'Oh dear lord,' Mycroft sighed. 'Ok. Ok, fine. Thank you.' He stalked from the room and the aid disappeared. Mycroft made his way to the sitting room and sighed at the state of his little brother. He was sitting on the floor, a blanket draped over him, and a goofy smile plastered on his face.

'Oh, Sherlock,' Mycroft sighed, shaking his head sadly.

'My!' Sherlock shouted, waving at the blurred figure of his brother.

Mycroft sighed and moved to stand beside Sherlock in front of the fire.

'What are you doing here, Sherlock?' he asked tiredly. 'And why on earth are you high?'

'Wanted snuggle time,' Sherlock giggled, latching himself onto Mycroft's right leg.

Mycroft stiffened at Sherlock's possessive grasp. He couldn't help but stutter forward slightly when Sherlock pulled his leg closer.

'That doesn't answer my other question,' Mycroft sighed. 'Why are you high? What happened?'

Sherlock pulled at his brother tighter and cocked his head to the side.

'Bad feelings. Wanna make them go away.'

'Sherlock, you can't take drugs every time you feel bad. You'll kill yourself.' Mycroft paused. 'I won't stand by and watch you do that. I will throw you in rehab, against your will if I have to, before I fail you like I did in your dream.'

Sherlock blinked up at Mycroft. 'Snuggle time, please?' he asked persistently.

Mycroft rolled his eyes and sunk to the floor, sitting cross legged in front of the fire. He would indulge Sherlock, but that didn't mean he'd have to enjoy it.

Sherlock shifted closer and moved his arms to wrap around Mycroft's extended and soft belly.

'You're like a big teddy bear,' he laughed loudly.

Mycroft frowned. He didn't want to be a teddy bear. He wanted to be trim and fit like he used to be. He needed to talk to Gregory about his diet and exercise regimen. Would it be possible for him to eat less and exercise more? Or would that not be acceptable?

'You're sopping wet,' Mycroft stated instead.

Sherlock frowned. 'Jawn gonna get angry. Gonna get sicker.' He tightened his arms around Mycroft's waist, squeezing his belly.

Mycroft sighed loudly. 'And you think I'm not mad at you for turning to drugs again? Well, I suppose I'm not. Worried and disappointed, but not mad.'

'Mmm sorry, My,' Sherlock mumbled. 'Tried to say no to my cravings.'

Mycroft wanted to say Sherlock needed to try harder, but he didn't. He couldn't upset his brother like that. Didn't want Sherlock to run off into the storm in his current state. It wouldn't be safe.

'Shall I set up a room for you in rehab?' he asked softly. 'So you can detox and get better?'

'No,' Sherlock whimpered. 'Jawn will get worse. Not good. Not safe.'

'What's wrong with John?' Mycroft asked. 'I realise he's lost some weight but he can easily gain that back. Especially now that you two are together again. What else has he got going on?'

'Refusing to eat, cutting, and–' Sherlock pursed his lips together and ran his tongue over his teeth. He could still taste John. '–smoking in excess.'

'John doesn't smoke,' Mycroft scoffed. 'But the cutting... the cutting I can understand.' Mycroft glanced at his left arm, his own scars covered by his suit jacket's sleeve.

'Does too,' Sherlock argued. 'I can taste him.' He shivered violently against his brother.

'My fault. All my fault. Everything my fault. Your pain. John's pain. Everything.'

'Sherlock, stop blaming yourself,' Mycroft sighed. 'None of this is your fault. Everyone has their ways of coping with stressful situations. Some are just worse than others. We did what we did because we wanted to be reminded we were alive, and that maybe, just maybe, you would wake up and everything would be alright. You did not do this to us, nor did you make us. We did it of our own volition.'

Mycroft sighed again. 'And while I'll take your word for it, I won't believe John is a heavy smoker until I see it with my own eyes. The man is a doctor for Christ's sake. He knows how harmful those nasty buggers are to the human body.'

'You'd all have been better off if I was dead,' Sherlock stated miserably. Before his brother could respond a sharp pain hit him and he gasped for breath. Sherlock grunted and clutched his chest.

'Heart hurting real bad.' His face scrunched up. 'Errhh shit.' His pulse was through the roof. Again.

Mycroft bolted upright, running to call for help. He didn't know how to help someone who was overdosing. He dialled 999 and told the operator his little brother was overdosing and needed an ambulance quick. He gave her the address and she said help was a few minutes away. Mycroft wasn't sure Sherlock even had that long. He rushed back to his brother and held him close, hoping to stop the violent shaking.

'Help is on the way, Sherlock. I won't fail you this time. And I sure as shit won't let you die!'

Sherlock was too far gone to hear his brother's reassurances. He let out a tearful sob and shook harder. His heart hurt. His head was numb. His body was icy cold and on fire at the same time. He was dying. Something told him he didn't have much time left before he bit the dust.

'Goodbye, My,' he gasped.

'No. Sherlock, no.' Mycroft pulled his little brother into his lap and held him tight. 'Just hold on, alright? Just a few more minutes. Please. Don't die on me!'

'I'm sorry,' Sherlock gasped through gritted teeth. 'I'm sorry for everything. I'm a shit brother. Mmm sor–' His breath began to shallow out. He cried out as another sharp pain hit his chest. 'Gah! Dying's fucking painful!'

'Did you think it would be easy?' Mycroft asked, a hint of a smile on his face. He picked Sherlock up and moved to sit on the staircase in front of the door. That way the paramedics could just grab Sherlock and go.

'I won't let you die. You know why?' He dared to run a hand gingerly through Sherlock's hair. 'Because we'll be worse without you. You honestly think we'll be better off? Sherlock, think about John. Think about how bad he was when you were simply in a coma. Now imagine how much worse he'll be when you're dead. He would probably turn to drugs himself simply so he could see you again. And he'd probably end up killing himself when the hallucinations just weren't cutting it anymore. Please, brother. Live. For John, because he needs you. You need to take care of each other. You have a very codependent relationship, which probably isn't healthy, but we'll address that later. Please, don't die.'

Sherlock leant into Mycroft's gentle touch and whimpered. 'I can't hold on. It hurts too much. I can't... I... Tell John that I – oh never mind. He'll know.'

'No. Stay with me,' Mycroft murmured, still petting Sherlock's hair. 'Just breathe. Can you do that?'

The paramedics arrived then and whisked Sherlock away. Mycroft stood dumbfounded on the steps. He didn't know what to do anymore.

'Sir? Might I suggest we follow the ambulance to the hospital?' One of his drivers. Good. Excellent.

'I think that would be wise, yes.'

**…::-::…**

The world moved around Sherlock in a blur. Voices were shouting near his ears. They were filled with urgency so he knew his situation was beyond dire.

He felt himself tip to the edge of life itself, nearly falling into the blackness of death. But each time he would feel a pressure on his chest and a jolt of electricity and he would be dragged back into the light.

Something told him that each time that happened his heart had stopped. The paramedics were forcing the organ to beat again.

Each time that happened he had, in effect, died.

Sherlock didn't know whether to be scared or at peace.

In the end he chose scared.

Yes, Sherlock Holmes was very scared.

**…::-::…**

John was filling out routine paperwork at the end of his shift when suddenly the entire hospital seemed to rush by his door. He groaned and threw down his pen. If this was some poor sod who'd gotten into another fistfight and lost he was going to tear his hair out. It was so close to being the end of his shift too. Now he'd have to stay longer to see if he was needed.

A gurney rushed by his office, a nurse sitting atop it and appeared to be giving the patient CPR. He opened his door and peered out, the gurney disappearing behind the corner.

'Sarah, what's going on?' he asked as she rushed past.

'John, I'm having you sit this one out,' she rushed out, clearly wanting to assist the incoming patient.

'What? Why?'

'Because you're too close to this one,' Sarah explained.

'What? Did Harry get alcohol poisoning again?' John asked, slightly worried.

'No. Worse. It's... It's Sherlock and he's overdosing. I gotta go.' She rushed off to follow the gurney – Sherlock – and John slunk back into his office and sunk into his chair.

_Sherlock is overdosing? He went out and got more drugs? Was he even asleep when I texted him? Or was he out looking for a dealer?  
_  
'God dammit Sherlock!' John cried, slumping down on his desk and covering his head in his arms. He needed another cigarette. And quickly. He rushed out, the box still in his pocket, and exited the surgery, going back to where he had been before and lit another cigarette. His hands were shaking again, but he wasn't sure if it was because of his need for a smoke or worry over Sherlock. Probably Sherlock. No, definitely Sherlock. Sarah had been right. John was too close to this and he would give the team their space. He would worry in private for now, smoking his problems away until Sherlock was stable. If he ever became stable.

By some miracle Sherlock's body won the battle between the drug flooding in his system. Though Sherlock knew that just because the battle had been won didn't mean he had won the war. He was only just about stabilised. He was barely alive bar his breathing and still slightly uneven heartbeat.

John stood outside in the rain, not wanting to get in the way but also needing to clear his head. Sherlock had overdosed again. Sherlock had gone back to his dealer. Why? What had happened? Did he go to the Yard and run into Anderson again? John hadn't even told Sherlock he'd beaten Anderson up for him. Would he ever get the chance? He turned his face up to the sky and let the cool rain pelt down his face.

_Sherlock will be fine,_ he told himself. _It will all be fine._

**…::-::…**

Hours seemed to pass by before the shouting and the hands working on Sherlock's body stopped. He had finally been allowed some quiet to let his hazy mind gather its pieces.

When he finally came around fully, he felt like death warmed over but found himself begging under his breath to see his brother and John. They were the only people who mattered to him. He had to make sure they were ok. He had to see them so he could acknowledge he was truly alive.

**…::-::…**

Mycroft found John outside, eyes closed, face towards the sky. A pile of cigarette butts were stomped out at his feet. Good lord, Sherlock was right.

'John,' Mycroft called, rolling down his window and beckoning the doctor over. John snapped his eyes open and looked toward the sleek black car. He swallowed and made his way over to Mycroft, avoiding his gaze.

'So, you heard?' John asked gently.

'About you? Yes. I was the one who called the ambulance for Sherlock,' Mycroft said.

'About me?' John asked incredulously. 'And why did Sherlock go to you?'

'You aren't eating, you're cutting, and now you're smoking,' Mycroft said, wrinkling his nose. 'You smell awful.'

'Yeah, sorry,' John said, staring down at his shoes.

'Don't apologise if you don't mean it,' Mycroft said. 'Get in.'

'What? Why?'

'So we can get you in some clean, dry clothes,' Mycroft said, scootching over. 'Sherlock doesn't need to see you sopping wet and smelling of smoke. Come on.'

John sighed and opened the door, climbing in and sitting down in a huff. He stared out the window as the car pulled away, Mycroft respecting the silence and allowing them both to think.

They made it back to Baker Street and John climbed out, slamming the door behind him. He slowly made it up to his room, noticing that not only had Sherlock not moved his things but also that he had left an old razor on the floor. He picked it up and placed it in his bedside drawer, moving over to his wardrobe and shedding his wet clothes. He pulled on his striped jumper and a fresh pair of jeans. Dry socks were definitely a necessity, as were shoes. John changed quickly and went back outside, ducking into the car before he got soaked again.

They rode in silence again, no one daring to speak. John was too stressed with worry over Sherlock. Mycroft was worried about them both.

The nurses kept on pestering Sherlock, asking him silly questions varying from 'are you ok sir?' to 'is there anything I can get you?' Both of which were ridiculous. He wasn't ok. He was a bloody far cry from ok. He had just overdosed for goodness sake. He'd flat lined at least three times from what he'd heard. So no. He was not ok.

As for anything that they could get him? All he wanted was his brother and John and he'd been told that they weren't in the building currently so that was a no to that question too.

He began to get increasingly restless and soon he found himself getting exceptionally snappy with the nurses. Despite the fact that he was weak as a kitten still and his voice was less powerful than usual his deductions were becoming crueler and crueler with each nurse that came to annoy him. They soon learned to stay clear of him. He seemed to strike fear into most of them and none of them dared venture close enough in fear of getting deduced and having their lives slowly stripped down to the finer details.

John and Mycroft finally arrived back at the hospital, a very exasperated nurse showing them to Sherlock's room. Seems he had been asking for them and had gotten rude and snappy to the nurses, deducing them rather harshly. The nurse let them in, not entering herself, and left quickly.

'Oh Sherlock,' John sighed, moving to his side and taking his hand.

Sherlock smiled drowsily, gazing into John's eyes, searching for signs of anger in the flickering pools of blue.

'Hello,' he sighed exhaustedly. He let his eyes move to Mycroft and his smile widened a little.

'Thank you,' he said gently.

'You are quite welcome, Sherlock,' Mycroft said. 'Sorry for not getting here sooner.'

John smiled down at Sherlock, clutching his hand tight. He began to pet his hair soothingly. He was just happy Sherlock was ok. He'd probably get mad later, if ever.

Sherlock sighed and tilted his head into John's hand. 'Sorry if I gave you both a scare,' he apologised.

'It's ok, hun,' John said softly. 'At least you're ok.'

'And you were very... snuggly,' Mycroft said.

'I am now that you're here, yes.' Sherlock squeezed John's hand lightly whilst turning back to his brother.

'You were the snuggly one I believe, Mycroft,' he teased lightly. But then on a far more serious note said, 'Don't you dare change. Screw what others think, Croft. Just bloody be happy with yourself.'

'How on earth was I snuggly?' Mycroft scoffed. 'I only held you in my lap because you were dying.'

John placed a soft kiss to the top of Sherlock's head, noting how warm he was. Hopefully the staff had given him something for his cold and were trying to regulate his temperature.

Sherlock frowned and shrugged. 'Don't ask me why you're snuggly. You just are. You remind me of my teddy from when I was younger. Oh... bad example considering I decapitated it for an experiment.' He turned to John and hummed as he was peppered in more kisses on his forehead.

'Yes. I don't want to be compared to that teddy bear,' Mycroft frowned. 'I'm just glad to see you're ok. How are you feeling? I realise it's a stupid question, just answer it.'

'Like shit,' Sherlock wheezed. 'Though I was never going to feel anything other than that.'

'Because of your cold virus?' Mycroft guessed. 'Yes, I suppose you would. Maybe now you'll be able to recover from that.'

'Hey!' John pouted, feeling accused.

'My apologies John. I didn't mean to imply you were a poor doctor.'

'Thank you.'

'But nonetheless, now that Sherlock is attached to an IV, maybe he'll regain some of the fluids he's lost.' Mycroft raised an eyebrow and John blushed, turning away to pet Sherlock's hair again.

Sherlock gave John a knowing look and smirked.

'Mmm,' Sherlock half panted. 'I feel as though I'm a furnace. That, added to the fact I apparently flat-lined three times, doesn't bode well.'

John paled. Sherlock had flat-lined? Three times? He had nearly lost him three times?

'I'll find a nurse and see if we can't bring your temperature down,' Mycroft said, purposefully leaving the room so John and Sherlock could talk. Of course, he would have a talk with Sherlock as well, but their chat could wait. Right now, John needed him.

'You... You died three times?' John asked softly, swallowing audibly.

'Me and my big mouth,' Sherlock sighed. 'But yes. I flat-lined at least three times, maybe more.'

'Maybe more?' John gasped. 'Sherlock, honey, how can you be so nonchalant about saying that? You _died!_ Multiple times! How are you so calm? Are you still high?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'Maybe a little.' He paused and cocked his head. 'I am sorry.'

'I'm sorry too. I should never have left you alone. I should have called in and said I wouldn't be available for the rest of the week.' John sighed and looked down at his shoes. 'What caused you to do it this time? Run into Anderson again? Oh! Before I forget, I finally managed to smack him about a bit for you. Pretty sure I broke his nose too.'

Sherlock laughed, his lips pulling back into a smile. 'Thank you. I'm guessing Lestrade just turned a blind eye then?' He decided to avoid the whole answer John was looking for. He didn't want to upset him further by telling him the truth.

'Sherlock, you're avoiding the question,' John said, avoiding Sherlock's own question. 'What happened?'

'I went upstairs in your room.' Sherlock let out a sigh. 'I found something and I flipped out.'

'What did you – oh.' John swallowed and sighed, hanging his head in shame. 'The razor.'

'Yes,' Sherlock said in a small voice. 'It still had your blood on it.'

'It was days old, not recent. I – I'm sorry you found it. I should have taken care of it properly. It's my fault then that you're in such a state. I'm so sorry.'

'Don't you dare,' Sherlock scolded John. 'I am the one who went to my dealer again. And I am the one who lied to you. This is not your fault.'

'I'm the one who left the razor out, which you stumbled upon, which caused you to go to that Dave guy, who got you high,' John sighed. 'I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should have stayed home, I shouldn't have gone to work, I should have stayed with you and taken care of you. Maybe we could have moved my things together. If you had still found the razor we would have been able to sit down and talk about it instead of you running off and getting high. I should have stayed here. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'

'Shut up.' Sherlock tugged John's hand hard. 'Just shut up, stop thinking for a little bit, and hop onto the bed and hug me,' he requested.

John sighed and carefully climbed onto the bed, wrapping his arms around Sherlock in a soft hug. He laid his head against his chest and listened to his erratic heartbeat.

'Can't you just let me feel guilty? I have spent so much time bottling my guilt inside. And look at where it's gotten me.' He pushed up the right sleeve of his jumper and gazed upon the six newest slashes. 'This is what I did to cope with the guilt. So, can I please just feel guilty for once? Can I?'

Sherlock brushed his fingertips over John's scars. 'But none of this is your fault,' he hushed. 'None of it.'

'Just – shut up, Sherlock,' John sighed. 'Stop thinking, stop blaming yourself, and let me cope with this.'

Sherlock sealed his lips tightly shut and shifted where he lay underneath John, his erection for once not wanted but still summoned by John's presence.

John ignored Sherlock's very obvious erection and closed his eyes, allowing himself to think. If he had just taken care of the damn razor when he had made those cuts then none of this would have happened. If he hadn't gone to work then none of this would have happened. But he had needed to go to work. Someone had to bring in the money to pay rent and buy food. Not that he and Sherlock ate much anymore, but John needed the work. It distracted him from how stressful and awkward his life had become. He had fallen out with his lover, had stopped eating, had started cutting and smoking. All of which were hazardous to his health alone, but together were a dangerous combination. He was unfit, ill, and possibly crazy. Especially since he had begun seeing a deranged version of Sherlock telling him terrible things. He should have checked himself into a mental institution ages ago. Too late now.

Sherlock lightly tossled John's mop of golden hair. His beautiful, far too thin, self destructive, and now – again by the smell of his skin – heavily smoking John.

'What happened to us? We used to be so good for each other,' he mused out loud.

John blinked, roused from his thoughts, and looked up at Sherlock. What did happen to them? What had gone wrong?

'Moriarty,' John said. 'He did this to us. We were absolutely fine until he threatened my life. And then his henchman beat you up, and then Moriarty fucked with your memories, and now there's your doppelgänger in the hospital...' John trailed off, settling back against Sherlock's chest.

'Moriarty said he would burn the heart out of you. And seeing as I'm your heart, he's taking me from you in the most ingenious way possible. He's making me destroy myself.'

'We have to get away,' Sherlock said, almost pleading with John. 'Can we please just get out of London? Just go.'

He shifted uncomfortably under John and squeezed his arms around him. 'Let's just go to the countryside. I don't know where. But we need a break from all this.'

'I hear America is nice this time of year,' John mused, hugging Sherlock a little tighter. 'And it's a fair distance from here, eighteen hours or so of flight across the pond and we'll be away from it all.'

'Yes,' Sherlock agreed. 'America is rather nice. Shall we go there then? Start a new life? Away from everything?'

'You would just up and leave? Just like that?' John sat up and stared down at Sherlock. 'No more cases? No more body parts from Saint Bart's? No more Lestrade, your brother, Molly, or Mrs Hudson? You would just leave everything behind? Is it really that easy for you?'

'No.' Sherlock shook his head. 'The thought is making me quite queasy; or that may be because I'm ill.' He shrugged. 'I would do it for you. You're wasting away, John. You're cutting and you reek of cigarettes. So I'll do it for you.'

John swallowed and settled back against Sherlock's chest.

'Yeah. Sorry. Picked up the habit while you were in a coma. Quit not long before you woke up, but it came back when, you know.' He swallowed again before continuing. 'I don't want to live in America. No offence, but I can't just up and leave my life like that. I think maybe a long holiday, through the summer, and we can get healthy again. Fix ourselves, be good for each other again. It could be nice. A summer long holiday in America.'

'Just us, fast food, no cares in the world, and constant sex.' Sherlock grinned and wiggled beneath John. 'No arguments from me.'

'Sorry, but I learned my lesson the last time you were in a hospital,' John apologised as he wriggled away from Sherlock's groin. 'No more sex in hospital beds. But the constant sex in America does sound very appealing. We'll have Mycroft send us somewhere remote but bustling. I couldn't deal with quiet, country, American life. I might just die of boredom.'

Sherlock huffed and pouted. 'Fine,' he sighed. 'And of course, I was simply suggesting the countryside for myself.' Sherlock chewed on his lower lip. 'So I don't bump into any drug dealers.'

'Sherlock, there are going to be drug dealers everywhere you go in America,' John sighed. 'Doesn't matter how far you are from a big city, drug dealers aren't in short supply. It's America for Christ's sake. They have an over abundance of everything. Whether it's obesity, debt, or drug dealers. Doesn't matter. They apparently need to be the best at everything, including the worst things. Like unemployment, homelessness, and murders per year. And they're so damn ignorant about everything! I bet you not one person we might encounter would be able to tell us where England is on a map.'

Sherlock snorted. 'That doesn't sound like Americans. It sounds more like the entire human race. And yes, you're right. I just don't trust myself at all at the moment. With good reason too. I almost died of overdosing twice within a short space of time.'

'Maybe we should focus on getting you well before we go on holiday,' John suggested. 'Maybe then you wouldn't be so prone on wandering off to find drugs.'

'Very well,' Sherlock agreed, his brow creasing. 'My brother wants me to go to rehab.'

'I think that would be wise,' John nodded. 'Maybe I should check in to a mental institution. With my cutting and the voices and all that. And the starvation, let's not forget about that.'

'You're not crazy,' Sherlock scolded. 'You're just under a lot of stress.'

'Sherlock, I have had voices in my head for the past six months. Telling me to do all kinds of disturbing and regretful things. Killing myself and you among them. Tell me how that isn't crazy? Maybe I'm schizophrenic.'

'So?' Sherlock shrugged. 'I have a billion voices in my head. Why do you think I'm constantly having mood swings? It's just a part of life. Though I suppose I've had longer to cope with mine. It just takes time.'

'Sherlock, you are a frighteningly mad genius. I would have been surprised if you didn't have voices in your head, spewing deductions constantly. Hell, even Mozart was tortured by finding music in every little detail about life, the music constantly playing in his head. Or, that's one theory at least. Not sure if that's been proven or not, but it seems pretty legitimate. I'm just worried that I'm losing my mind. This isn't normal for me, and it has me deeply worried. I don't want to kill myself, you, or anyone for that matter. And I'm scared I may listen to the voices one day.'

'I understand that. I really do. My voices tell me to do bad things too. They scream at me constantly. They hurt me in ways I don't think even you would comprehend.' Sherlock rubbed his head. 'Sometimes, I don't know where I start and where the voices end. Sometimes they become me.'

John didn't say anything. He was too afraid to speak now. Sherlock's voices were so much worse than his. At least John only had one voice, but it was Sherlock strung out on drugs. He clutched to Sherlock and buried his nose in his chest, inhaling his scent to remind himself Sherlock hadn't listened to the voices. Well, not to the extent that he had permanently harmed himself, someone else, or worse.

'Is that why you have trouble sleeping?' he finally managed to ask. 'Because of the voices?'

'The voices replay every negative memory in my mind that has ever happened to me, John. If I sleep I give them more control over me. I am afraid I will kill myself or others if I sleep. I wouldn't be surprised if I am a freaky sleep murderer.' Sherlock shivered and his heart pounded in his chest. 'Even now I can barely hear myself over the voices.'

'Then let me attempt to shut them out,' John said softly, sealing his lips to Sherlock's in a possessive kiss.

Sherlock kissed John back softly. 'I wuv you,' he giggled lightly against his lover's lips.

'Wuv you too,' John mumbled back before capturing Sherlock's lips again.

Sherlock dragged John up him with the arm that wasn't attached to the IV. 'Screw hospital rules,' he ushered. 'Get me a damn release.'

'Does it stop the voices?'

'For a while, yes.' Sherlock shifted his hips. 'Please?'

'Ok.'

John kissed Sherlock again before moving down his body, pushing the blanket away as he went. He pushed Sherlock's hospital gown up until it sat above his waist, his erection bobbing happily in front of John's face. He slathered Sherlock's prick with saliva before engulfing him whole, bobbing furiously. Sherlock rutted against John's lips slowly but urgently. He moved himself so he hit the back of John's throat with a deep moan.

'Bollocks!' he cried out. 'Gah! Bloody bollocks!'

John took that as a demand rather than the profanity it was. His left hand travelled to Sherlock's bollocks and rolled them in his palm gently before tugging and allowing them to snap back into place.

'Gah! Mmm. Fuck!' Sherlock was already panting in exhaustion. 'Massage! Rough! Bollocks! Now!'

John hollowed his cheeks and pressed the heel of his hand roughly against Sherlock's bollocks, moving it against them in short, rough strokes. Sherlock's breathing came out in short, ragged breaths. His heart monitor became a shrill chorus. He was close now. So close. John began bobbing his head again, sucking hard as he did. His hand moved rough and fast against Sherlock's drawn bollocks. He was close. Deliciously close. John could already taste him on his tongue. Not long now. John decided to pull roughly on Sherlock's tight bollocks and suck hard on his cock like it was a straw simultaneously to send him over the edge.

That was it. His body writhed upwards and he bucked harshly, almost choking John. Whoops. He'd apologise later. For now he was content in cumming down John's throat at a rapid rate, screaming John's name, his heart almost stopping several times as it was beating so fast. John spluttered and gagged but didn't choke. His throat hurt but he'd take care of that later. He released Sherlock's cock to splat against his abdomen and looked at his panting, debauched lover. He looked calm despite how fast his heart was racing.

Oh shit.

John turned to the door to face a rather disturbed looking Mycroft and a very red-faced nurse.

'Before you do something, let me explain,' John said just as the nurse grabbed him by the ear and took him off the bed. She took John from the room and led him to the lift, shoving him in without a word.

'When can I come back?' John asked, slamming a hand against the lift door to keep it from closing.

'You can't,' she shot back.

'But I work here!' John protested.

'Not anymore. I'll see to that!'

'Sarah won't fire me! She knows I'm a good doctor!' John yelled as he allowed the lift to close and take him down to ground level. He decided to sit in the waiting area and sulk. Mycroft would have to come out eventually, right? Maybe then he could relay how Sherlock was feeling after their own talk.

Sherlock's after sex mood quickly left him for a far fouler one. 'Bring him back now!' he roared. 'Idiots!'

'He'll be fine,' Mycroft sighed. 'He's just in the lobby, sulking.'

Sherlock pouted. 'I want him here. It's not fair. He was hardly doing me any harm.'

'Sherlock, he was giving you heart palpitations, and I'm pretty sure it stopped a few times as well.' Mycroft sat down in the chair by the side of the bed and looked on at his little brother.

Sherlock snorted. 'In which case it's a surprise I'm not dead already.' He saw his brother's face fall and instantly felt guilty. 'I'm sorry. I was merely stating that John makes my heart do weird things.'

'As Gregory does to mine, but this time is different. You nearly died multiple times on the ride over, as I have been informed. Having John add to that by giving you heart palpitations is not safe.'

'He was helping me,' Sherlock sighed. 'And I was helping him. We both have rather similar states of mind currently.'

'The self destructive sort, yes, I know.'

'It's not as simple as that,' Sherlock frowned. 'He wants himself locked up in a mental institution.'

'Really? Because of the cutting and the eating disorder? Understandable. I'm sure I could find a suitable one for him. One where he could quit his heavy smoking habit as well.' Mycroft was already searching his mental database for suitable mental institutions that would cater to John's needs.

'He hears a voice inside his head too,' Sherlock said brokenly. 'Apparently it's the dark version of me. He sees the dark version too, as an actual person. He's terrified of him.'

Mycroft blinked and looked at his little brother. 'John is seeing and hearing a voice who just so happens to look like a dark version of you? How long has this been going on?'

'Since I've been in a coma apparently,' Sherlock retorted sharply. 'I told him that he isn't as insane as me. He hears one voice. I hear billions.'

'As do I. Perhaps it is the curse of genius minds. Although, I highly doubt you and I hear billions of voices. I honestly don't believe that it is humanly possible to create a billion different voices inside your own head.

'As for John, if he's seeing an actual person attached to his voice, maybe he should get some help. He isn't as strong as we are, and if only one voice is causing him so much trouble then perhaps I should check him in somewhere. And you into rehab as well.'

'Maybe that would be for the best,' Sherlock nodded solemnly before he cocked his head. 'Do your voices tell you to do bad things, My?' he asked, genuinely curious.

'Of course they do.' Mycroft nearly scoffed at the notion that voices did anything but. 'How else do you think I started binge eating and cutting?'

'I know that,' Sherlock said tenderly. 'I meant to others around you. Do they tell you to harm them?'

'For a while they told me to harm Gregory. That's why I didn't get close to him while you were in a coma. But they've never told me to hurt you or Mummy or John. At least, not yet.'

'Ok.' Sherlock bit his lip. 'My, can I ask you a question? You don't have to answer it. It's about father.'

Mycroft shifted in his seat and swallowed before nodding.

'Was he... bipolar?' Sherlock questioned. The thought had been playing on his mind since his coma dream.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. How had Sherlock known that? He hadn't told him that. Had he?

'Yes, he was. How did you know that?'

Sherlock exhaled tiredly and hid his face in his hands. 'It doesn't matter.'

'No. I suppose it doesn't.' Mycroft clicked his tongue to the roof of his mouth in thought. 'Why do you ask?'

'In my dream... you were bipolar,' Sherlock whispered. 'Father had passed it on to you.'

'Oh.' Mycroft paused to think. 'That could explain my mood swings of late.'

'Do me a favor, My. Get yourself checked out,' Sherlock ordered. 'Before you decide to smack me one preferably,' he smiled weakly.

Mycroft smiled softly and nodded. 'Sure thing little brother. Whatever you say. Seems we're all, what's the kind terminology? Oh yes. Fucked up in the head.'

Sherlock grinned. 'And what's that other saying? Takes one to know one.'

Mycroft laughed, really laughed for the first time in months.

'Oh, thank you for that,' Mycroft said, wiping at one of his eyes. 'I needed that. So, is there anything else I can do for you? If not, I'm going to leave to book accommodations for us all. And I'll send John back up as well.'

'Well some food wouldn't go amiss,' Sherlock said, still grinning. 'Food and John. That's all I need right now. And perhaps one of the less dreadful nurses to give me something for my fever.'

'Of course,' Mycroft smiled gently. 'Food and your John. And a proper nurse to bring your fever down.' He stood and adjusted his jacket and walked over to Sherlock's bedside. He paused slightly before placing a gentle kiss to his brother's forehead.

'I'll see you later. John will be up soon.'

Before his brother could protest, Sherlock had dragged him into a hug. It wasn't tight because he didn't want to rip any of his wires, but it was warm and comforting. Mycroft froze for a moment before wrapping an arm around Sherlock in a gentle hug.

'Get better soon,' he mumbled, standing up and walking to the door. 'I'll be back later with all our accommodations. Let John know too.'

'Will do,' Sherlock assured his brother. 'Please take care, Mycroft.' He eyed his brother carefully.

'I always do,' Mycroft smiled softly. He waved goodbye to Sherlock and exited the room. He first made sure to get a nurse to lower his brother's temperature. Then, he talked to the staff about letting John back up to stay in Sherlock's room and watch over him. With that all sorted, Mycroft found John and told him all that had happened and how he had sorted everything out. John thanked him and dashed for the lift, taking it up to Sherlock's floor and dashing back to his love's room.

Sherlock's entire face lit up as John stormed into his room. 'Hello, dear.' His voice sounded a little slurred. The nurses had given him something to help reduce his fever and to help him sleep too. 'They allowed you back in then?'

'Yeah. Mycroft cleared everything up. Said we'd all be getting help too.' He looked at Sherlock and cocked his head. 'They give you something?'

Sherlock hummed and glanced at his drip. 'The world really is a beautiful place, isn't it?' He sighed giddily. 'Though I fear more rain is in store for later on, dear. Not that rain isn't beautiful.' He was rambling sleepily now.

'Love, you aren't making sense,' John said softly. He smoothed some of Sherlock's hair down and smiled. 'Go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake. Promise.'

'I am making sense. You're just not keeping up,' Sherlock huffed grumpily but closed his eyes anyway. 'N-ight.'

'I think you make sense to yourself, but to me it sounds like you're speaking another language. Maybe you are.' John placed a gentle kiss to Sherlock's forehead and sighed. 'Sleep now, love. I'll see you when you wake.'

Sherlock found his sleep filled with dreams again. This time they were a little more pleasant. Probably due to whatever the nurses had given him. However, they were still disturbing. He was being chased by fan girls.

'I do not even remotely resemble an otter! Get your hands of my shirt. Yes, I know it's the purple shirt of sex but hands off! No, I do not want to see your fan art. Dear lord what is that meant to be?! I don't believe John and I have tried that position before. I'm not sure I'm that flexible in real life.'

John slept slumped over in a chair, his head resting on Sherlock's bed, his arms serving as his pillow. He didn't sleep nearly as peacefully as Sherlock appeared to be. His dreams were fu of a drug addicted Sherlock, ambling about the flat, himself covered in slashes and stick thin. Moriarty came later and set John on fire, literally burning Sherlock's heart. But Sherlock was too drugged to care it seemed.

John woke suddenly, drenched in a cold sweat and a harsh scream dying in his throat. He took deep breaths, trying to calm down, looking at a peacefully sleeping Sherlock to show himself that he was alive and well.

* * *

Sorry for the weird ending. I wasn't sure where to cut it off for the next chapter, so this had to do because the next bit is about their time together before they go away to their rehab facilities. And it'll be tough for John and Sherlock to be apart after just having gotten back together. But there will be smut before they go. Lots of sexy times for our boys ahead ;)

And this Friday's post might be a bit late as well because I'll be taking a road test at nine in the freaking morning, and then I'll be watching the first _Star Trek_ movie (JJ Abrams version) with my roommate and then we'll be going out to see _Into Darkness_ later that night. While I will be getting it on Blu-Ray from Amazon, I won't be getting it until that Friday or Saturday. And I can't wait for the special features! Neutron cream, behind the scenes, bloopers! And Benedict. Can't forget him. ;)

Happy Red Pants Monday everyone. And we'll see you Friday.

TSA + IB


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